


At the Edge of the World

by GaiasGirl



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BDSM, Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Infidelity, Mildly Dubious Consent, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-11-06 22:06:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11045271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GaiasGirl/pseuds/GaiasGirl
Summary: The Dark Ritual was supposed to ensure that Alistair and Sophia Cousland would both survive the death of the Archdemon. But the price of ending the Blight might have been too high. Alistair finds himself busy at court with the Templars, while Sophia heads to Vigil's Keep to rebuild the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.The dubious consent in this refers mainly to the Dark Ritual scene between Alistair and Morrigan that takes place at the end of Dragon Age: Origins (depending on one's choices) . It is possible the tags will evolve, over time. They currently represent the direction that the story is taking, but I reserve the right to change my mind.No extensive knowledge of Dragon Age is needed to read this fic, it is written (hopefully) as a standalone piece using the characters and settings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two chapters have been posted immediately, however more are written. I do not anticipate this being an overly long story, but I do want to give time for the characters to develop.
> 
> Some of the dialogue has been lifted directly from the game. I do not own these characters or this world, I'm merely playing in it for a while.

Sophia Cousland nearly sank to down into the mud and wept with relief as the force that marched up the road solidified. Alistair, the king of Ferelden, led the soldiers up the ramp towards the embattled Keep. His gold armor was embossed with a delicate filigree, similar to the armor he had worn during the Blight. But then, his had been as dented and blood-splattered as hers was now, instead of gleaming pristinely in the fires that still burned in the courtyard. Varel and Mhairi dropped to their knees.

“Your Majesty,” they said in awe.

Sophia and Oghren remained standing, along with the apostate, Anders. She stood next to her dwarven friend as Senechal Varel filled the king in on what had transpired at Vigil’s Keep. The attack of the Darkspawn that had taken them all, impossibly, by surprise. Even hearing it again, having seen the aftermath with her own eyes, she found it hard to believe. It didn’t take long, after the Joining, for the Wardens to be able to sense the presence of the Darkspawn. And these were no green recruits. They were the supplemental force from Orlais. Men and women who were well trained. There was no way they should have been taken some completely unawares. Finally, Alistair turned to her.

“And how are you, my wife? Are you injured?” His voice dropped low, the only hint of intimacy as he stood without moving.

Sophia shook her head, “No, Oghren here kept me safe. I don’t suppose you’re here to rejoin the Wardens?”

“Don’t tempt me, you minx!” Alistair’s face finally broke into a familiar smile. “Eamon would have a heart attack.” He shook his head, running metal-gloved fingers through his hair. “It is quite the task you have before you. Unfortunately it appears that you are on your own.”

“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?” Oghren pushed forward past Sophia, tugging on his long red braided mustache. “I came here to join the Grey Wardens, and from the looks of it… you could use an extra hand.” His voice was low and graveled. Like rough sandpaper, especially when contrasted with Alistair’s still boyish tone. “Where’s that giant cup? I’ll gargle and spit.”

Smirking wickedly, Sophia’s blue eyes twinkled. “You’re not allowed to spit.”

Alistair’s personal guard looked affronted as Oghren laughed heartily. “That’s what I always say!” Oghren growled.

Mhairi shifted uncomfortably, “I guess they’ll take anyone now.”

Sophie wrinkled her nose, but pretended she didn’t hear. In truth, the news that Oghren was here with a desire to join the Grey Wardens was the best news she’d heard since she had been crowned Queen of Ferelden. She’d grown so used the company of her friends during the Blight. When it was over, they’d barely stayed long enough to see her married to Alistair, then had scattered to the wind. Even her new husband spent most of his time with Arl Eamon. She’d taken up the position of Commander of the Grey Wardens to find meaning in her days. With the Darkspawn still a pressing threat, despite the death of the Archdemon and the end of the Blight, she found herself more busy than she’d bargained for. Hurriedly she pushed away those memories to focus on the present.

“Joining the Grey Wardens… good luck with that,” the apostate Anders was saying.

Suddenly, the woman beside Alistair with the heraldry of the Templars on her cuirass stepped forward angrily. Sophia recognized her. Elessa Rylock, right hand of the King. “Your majesty, this man is a dangerous criminal!”

Alistair smiled at her warmly, “Oh… the dwarf is a little bit of arse, but he’s not that bad.”

“She means me,” said Anders dryly, leaning on his staff.

“This is an apostate that we were in the process of bringing back to the Circle to face justice, your majesty.”

“Oh please,” he rolled his eyes. “The things you people know of justice wouldn’t fill a thimble. I’ll just escape again, anyhow.”

Sophia struggled to suppress a snort. She didn’t know this mage, but her experience with the Chantry and Templars inclined her to agree with him.

“Never,” Rylock snapped. “I’ll see you hanged for what you’ve done, murderer.” She spat the last word, glaring furiously at Anders.

“Murderer? But those Templars were… Oh what’s the use, you won’t believe me anyhow.”

Understanding slammed into Sophia. This woman intended to hang him for killing the monsters that the Templars had become. The Templar was standing close to Alistair, looking at him expectantly.

“It seems there isn’t much to say.” Alistair shrugged.

Rylock crowed triumphantly. “Thank you,” she said smugly.

Sophia cleared her throat.

“Unless you have something to add, Commander?” Alistair looked over at Sophia, only the barest hint of guilt flashing across his features.

Bristling, Sophia pulled herself up to her full height, which - at 4’11” wasn’t saying much - and smiled coldly. Ever since the Dark Ritual the night before the final battle with the Archdemon Alistair had developed a deep hatred of mages. In particular apostates, like Morrigan, who operated outside of the Circle. He had surrounded himself with his former colleagues, the Templars and given them great leeway to hunt down rogue mages. A part of her had expected to feel the same. Morrigan had only come with them under orders of her mother, Flemeth, and had remained cold and distant from most of their company during all the months they spent together, battling the Blight. But in a few, unguarded moments, the other woman had been almost friendly. It was not Morrigan’s fault that nothing had turned out as it was supposed to. But she was not going to let her husband’s hatred of apostates claim another soul. “I hereby invoke the Right of Conscription and recruit this mage into the Grey Wardens.”

“Elessa,” Alistair said warning the Templar as she wrapped her hand around the hilt of her sword. “The Grey Wardens still possess that right, no? I’ll allow it.”

“… If… your majesty feels it is best,” she hissed, turning abruptly on her heel and stalking towards the rear of the column.

“Well, then.” Alistair straightened. “If you have everything you need. I believe I will take my leave.” The others nodded their assent and stepped back a few paces. “I hate having to ask this of you, love. It’d be much more interesting to keep you at court…”

Sophia shook her head, “After what happened with my family, I have lost my taste for court.”

Alistair chuckled, “My wife, you’ve always kicked more ass than I have. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this task has fallen on you. And I must leave you to it. Now, let me say a quick goodbye.” He stepped forward awkwardly, glancing around, and then placed a quick kiss on her cheek. Without another word, he turned on his heel and followed after Templar Rylock.

She sighed, watching them leave.

“Well… he’s changed a bit,” Oghren grumbled, coming to stand beside her.

“We all have,” she muttered darkly, turning and striding into the Keep before anyone could see her cry.

Exhausted, Sophia pushed the long strands of sweaty, matted hair out of her face. She peeled off her leather bracer as she stepped into her quarters, throwing it into the corner. Her bow warranted more care and she set it carefully in the stand beside the wardrobe. She left it strung for now, the chance that some Darkspawn that had missed their sweep was far too likely to leave her without her primary weapon. Originally she had balked at the idea of taking over the Arlessa’s rooms. She had flat out refused to take over Rendon Howe’s rooms, the thought had filled her mouth with bile. She’d acquiesced, hesitantly, to take the adjoining rooms. The Senechal had thought it was important that she hold a position of power within the house and she had been far too tired to keep arguing with him. Now, peering into the adjoining room where steam drifted from a large stone tub, she couldn’t remember any of her objections. The room had been stripped of all the trappings of the previous inhabitants. There were spots on the wall where it seemed obvious that paintings had hung. But all that remained were bare expanses of wood. The bed was large and appeared comfortable. She looked at it longingly, wishing she could sink onto the mattress and enjoy oblivion for a few blessed hours.

Stripping off the rest of her armor and leaving it out to be cleaned, she sank into the hot water with a hiss. Unfortunately, there would be no time to linger as she once had done at their keep in Highever. As it was, she’d had to put her foot down for even this brief respite. They had only just begun to build up the ranks of the Grey Wardens again, thanks to the influx of brothers and sisters from Orlais. And now, it seemed, they would be starting again. She wondered, if any would be claimed. Only she had survived the ritual in Ostagar, and for a moment, fear gripped her that perhaps Oghren would not survive. Could she be responsible for the death of a friend? Or the mage, Anders. She had conscripted him. True, it was only to save him from the self-righteous crusade of the Templars. But if he died… his blood would be on her hands.

As she pulled on her ceremonial armor, the instruction of her mother came to her. Eleanor had always insisted that they wear their best dress for any formal occasion. She said that proper attire was essential to set the tone of an event and command the proper respect. Although her own Joining had been performed in a war camp, she was determined that whenever possible, the ritual was given all proper solemnity. The familiar ritual of formal dress helped settle her nerves, an addition to the physical armor. Slinging her bow across her back along with her quiver, she ran her fingers through her damp, dark hair, and strode out into the Main Hall.

The Joining was still a simple event, and over quickly. Both Oghren and Anders had survived, but the warrior, Mhairi, had not. She set it aside, one day, perhaps, there would be time enough to mourn all those that she had lost. For now, there were a number of issues that had called her attention. Needing to breathe, she stepped out of the Keep, hoping to walk the walls, drinking in the twilight and make some decisions.

“Arlessa?” a blond woman waiting just outside the large double doors approached. Clad in the armor of one of the Keep’s soldiers, she had her hair pulled back into a tight bun and carried a satchel as she approached.

Sophia considered. By birth, she was a Teyrna. By marriage, a queen. And by right, an Arlessa and Commander. Who was she going to be here? Here at Vigil's Keep in the arling of Amaranthine at the very edge of the world. “Commander.” She decided, correcting the woman.

“Of course, my apologies.” The woman bowed deeply and then stood, right to business. “There is a matter that requires your attention immediately.” The private led Sophia to the dungeons beneath the Keep explaining on the way that a man had been taken prisoner before the attack. It had taken four Grey Wardens to capture him, clearly, he was no ordinary refugee or thief. Curious, she welcomed the small diversion from the larger issues.

“If it isn’t the great hero. Conqueror of the Blight, and Vanquisher of all Evil. My father’s murderer.”

It took a moment's hard though, but eventually she recognized him. That distinct hook nose, and sharp, aristocratic cheekbones. He was different, they all were. The years abroad looked as though they’d been nearly as kind to him as the Blight had been to her. A long white scar marked his left cheek and there was a hardness about him that she did not remember. She supposed that many would say the same of her… the Blight spared no one. They’d played together as children. Or, more accurately, he and Fergus had taken every opportunity to antagonize her. Although she and Sheelin, her Mabari hound, had held their own. She sighed, wishing she had brought Sheelin with her. Idly, she wondered if perhaps she could send for the hound. The Mabari’s skills so nicely complimented her own. It was hard to focus on anything other than a huge dog rushing you to the ground, even a slight woman pinging arrows through your spleen. Sophia nearly chuckled at the thought, but Nathaniel continued speaking and she pulled her attention back to the present.

“Aren’t you supposed to be ten feet tall? With lightning bolts shooting out of your eyes?” The man stared up at her sullenly through long dark hair. His voice was cold and biting. And somehow, as he stood there with chains secure around his wrists and ankles, even across his stomach, holding him to the stone wall he still managed to look every ounce a nobleman.

“Leave us,” she said to the guards, nodding in reassurance when they looked at her questioningly. Once they had left she continued. “I see my reputation precedes me,” Sophia smirked, leaning up against the cold iron bars of the cell. The room was cool, but not damp. It smelled pleasantly of hay and earth, with only a hint of sweat. It was dark, even now at midday. The only light from a few torches, flickering gently in the stillness.

“Somehow, I just thought that my… my father’s murderer,” he spat, “Would be more impressive. I am Nathaniel Howe. And my family owned these lands before you showed up. Do you even remember my father?”

Sophia’s lip curled in disgust. “Your father murdered my family. He deserved everything he got.”

“Your father was going to sell us out to the Orlesians,” he insisted angrily, pulling against the restraints in an impressive show of strength.

“And I suppose your father told you that?” she asked sarcastically.

“How could he? A Grey Warden stole into his estate and slaughtered him before I had the chance to talk to him. I came here…” he bristled, drawing himself up to his full height which was nearly two feet taller than her. “I came here, to kill you.” At those words, some of the anger seemed to dissipate and he fell back into the chains. “I realized… hanging here…” his voice caught. “I just want something to remember them by. I have nothing.”

The sudden change in his posture struck her. He was an orphan, like her. Parents stolen away far too soon and alone in the world. “Are your family’s things still here?” she asked curiously, recalling that every room she had seen had been stripped bare.

He shrugged. “If the Wardens have not destroyed them all. Our entire life was here. My father did not take everything with him to Denerim. Look,” he sighed deeply. “I don’t know what all happened with my father and the Couslands. But Ferelden was at war. Had Loghain won, my father would have been a hero, and you the traitor. Does my entire family deserve to be ruined, because my father believed he was acting in the kingdom’s best interests? I am a pariah now, a prisoner in my own home.” Finally, his dark met hers fully, “And it’s all thanks to you.”

“And now, your fate is in my hands,” Sophia mused. He grunted his assent. “What will you do, if I release you?”

“If you let me go?” he asked incredulously. His fingers wrapped around the chains and he pulled them tight, leaning forward. “I only came back, for you. If you free me, I will be back. And next time… you may not catch me.” His voice was low and deadly.

“You aren’t exactly making the best case for yourself.”

“I could lie, if you prefer,” he said smoothly, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“I understand we had some trouble capturing you.” Sophia switched topics, curious about the man in front of her.

“I am not without skills,” he said, somehow managing to appear cocky and confident, even chained as he was.

She folded her arms, studying him thoughtfully and letting him stew. He hated her. Releasing him was not an option. He was right, he did have skills. As a child his talent for sneaking around had been rivaled only by her own. He was slick as a shadow, even then. She shuddered to think what he was like now. It was a threat she would likely not see coming. And if the Captain was to be believed, she already had a number of those. The idea of willfully allowing another was not at all appealing. But those skills, they were skills the Grey Wardens desperately needed. And she would not see him executed. When she removed the emotions of it all, she thought perhaps she could see his side of it. Although she knew for a second it would not have been so… she hoped that, if things had come down differently. And it were her, chained up in front of him and seething for revenge, he would spare her life.

If she was being completely honest with herself: it was vengeance, not justice, that had sent her arrow into Rendon’s heart after they had defeated him in the dungeons of the Howe residence in Denerim. She had been so angry, so hurt. At the time, she had believed Fergus too had met his end as a result of their schemes and plots. The loss of her entire family had burned inside of her, eating her from the inside out. In Nathaniel’s eyes she could see the same hollowness.

“No, you are not,” she said. Finally breaking the silence. “I’ve decided what I’m going to do with you.”

“Already?” Despite his words, he did not seem surprised. Instead, a sense of resignation passed over his features before his face returned to a carefully schooled neutral expression. She recognized it, having perfected it herself as the daughter of a Teyrn.

Before she could respond, the guard returned, followed by the Senechal. “Commander,” he said. “I see you have had a chance to talk to the prisoner here. Have you decided what’s to be done with him?”

“I have,” Sophia said firmly. “I will be invoking the Right of Conscription.”

“Y-you.. you _**what**_?” Nathaniel choked.

“D-Did I hear you correctly, Commander? The Right of Conscription? On the prisoner?”

“No, absolutely not,” Nathaniel replied before she could say anything. “I forbid it. Hang me first.”

“I’m sorry,” Sophia said dryly. “Did it sound like I was giving you a choice?” She signaled for the guards to begin unchaining him. “Perhaps, if you are lucky, you will not survive the Joining.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel officially joins the Wardens and Sophia recalls the events of the Dark Ritual that had ensured both she and Alistair survive the Blight.
> 
> The flashback scene at the end of the chapter is of the Dark Ritual, and as such I have flagged it dubious consent. In truth, Alistair did agree to the ritual of his own free will.

He had survived, as Sophia had been fairly certain he would, and immediately demanded to stay in his father’s room. The captain and senechal had argued vehemently that it was not safe. The former Arl’s room opened to the Arlessa’s room, to her room. It was a risk, but the same intuition that told her Nathaniel would survive the Joining told her that he wasn’t a threat. Her intuition had kept her alive after her family had been killed, as they’d navigated difficult negotiations with the Dalish, through the abominations in the Mage’s Tower, and unraveled the tangled spider’s web that was Orzammar’s political landscape. Somehow she had become their leader… making all the decisions. She’d tried to ask Alistair for some guidance, but other than vague input here and there… and passing judgment when he disagreed, he’d been more than happy to let her carry the full weight of the rebellion.

Once the nightmares of the Archdemon had stopped, the flashbacks and what-ifs had begun. Arl Eamon’s son, Connor, was still quiet and somewhat withdrawn. Had the demon truly freed him? Should she have let the former werewolves go? And the one that had caused her the most sleepless nights of all… should she have supported Lord Harrowmont’s bid for the throne? She’d heard snippets, drifting up from the stone city. Bhelen was a ruthless leader, uprooting tradition and making sweeping changes. But it had seemed to her, in the time that she had spent there, that perhaps change wasn’t the worst thing. Either way, there was precious little that she could do about it now. Bhelen had had Harrowmont executed the moment he took the throne, and Sophia had left Orzammar without looking back.

Sophia growled and threw off the furs. She wasn’t going to sleep anymore tonight and from the orange-pink light filtering in through the windows through the gaps in the drapery it was dawn. Struck by a sudden impulse she smiled wickedly and slammed her fist into the side door. “Nathaniel!” she shouted. “Five minutes and I’m sending Anders in to help you dress.” Giggling to herself she walked out into throne room to gather the rest of her Wardens.

Last night, at some point, she had decided on their course of action for the day. Sergeant Maverlies had warned of the possibility of Darkspawn remaining trapped beneath the Keep. That needed to be taken care of before they did anything else, nothing could be done until she was certain that their base was as safe as it could be. Nodding to the others, and noting that Nathaniel was the first to join her at the door, she led him, Anders, and Oghren out into the torchlight of the early morning and to the door where Maverlies waited.

The stench hit them as soon as the door opened, searing her nose and throat. Her eyes watered, blurring her vision, as she signaled for Oghren to take the lead. The dwarf hefted the shield, sword ready, and descended the stairs. Nathaniel almost seemed to melt into the shadows as he followed, sword and dagger in his hands. Sophia trailed behind Anders, an arrow nocked, her entire body tense, waiting.

When they reached the large room at the bottom of the stairs Oghren paused, stepped to the side to let her through. The ground was littered with Darkspawn bodies, but as her eyes flicked over the corpses she didn’t see any Wardens, soldiers, or anyone except the foul, twisted bodies of the monsters. No, there was something else. For a terrified moment she thought that it was Sheelin, broken free of the breeding pens at the royal stable. But no, the coloring was slightly different. Carefully, Sophia picked her way through the slaughter to kneel at the side of the Mabari. Nathaniel was there first, kneeling in the gore and softly stroking the creature’s fur, talking in a low tone.

“Mage,” he snapped. “Help her.”

Anders stepped forward, a shimmer of yellow light already dancing over his hands. “I will do what I can.”

Sophia moved to the other side, stroking the hound. “Did you know this hound?” she asked Nathaniel softly. He shook his head. As her eyes dropped she noticed a splattered piece of parchment slipped underneath the thick leather collar.

We have taken refuge in the lower levels  
Please, help  
Adria

She put the note into a pouch on her belt and stood. “Oghren,” the red haired dwarf looked at her, waiting for instructions. “Head back up the stairs, tell Sergeant Maverlies there’s a wounded hound that needs attention. And to prepare the Keep for the possibility of survivors.” Before he could move, Nathaniel sprung to his feet and slipped past them.

“I’m faster.” His voice drifted down the stairs as he disappeared into the shadows.

Sophia shrugged. He returned with Maverlies and a small group of soldiers bearing a litter. Confident that they would see to the injured hound, she signaled for Oghren to head into the next room.

Darkspawn were everywhere in the tunnels. They cut a bloody path, clearing each room in turn, until they finally came to a large room that opened onto several smaller ones. Once they had killed all of the creatures she called for a break. It was warm in the lower levels, and the constant tension had taken its toll. Oghren took up position near the far door, and the others let down their guard just a little. She pulled a waterskin from her belt and drank the stale water with a sigh of relief. Rolling her shoulders she walked around the rooms, poking into the boxes curiously. Tearing off a strip of dried deer jerky with her teeth, she nudged a box with her toe. A small packet of bundled letters tied with a hemp string tumbled out and she stopped down to pick it up. They were addressed to Delilah Howe. Sophia tucked them into her tunic, wrinkling her nose a little as she considered… Delilah. That would have been Nathaniel’s younger sister. She’d rarely accompanied Howe on his trips to Highever and as a result, Sophia only had the vaguest memories of the girl.

Voices floated in from the next room. “So, you’re a Howe.”

“Do you have a point, Mage?”

“Hey, I’m fond of the Howes. Also the Whos, the Whats, and the Whys.”

“How clever.”

Anders burst out laughing. “It is shameful how long it took me to come up with that.”

“You should be,” Sophia smirked as she stepped back into the main room. “Shall we keep going?”

She nocked her arrow and nodded for Oghren to open the door. The room was full of Hurlocks and they made short work of them. Several prisoners were huddled in a corner behind a make-shift barricade. After assuring them that the way back was now safe, she sent them on their way towards the surface. Briefly, she felt bad that they had delayed. Taken the short break only one room away while they cowered in terror. But she knew that if they pushed themselves too hard they were as likely to find themselves prisoners of the Darkspawn, or dead. As much as she wanted to rescue as many as she could, they would be cautious and thorough. The room to the left appeared to have a key and lock puzzle. She studied it briefly and then shook her head.

“It’s unlikely there is anything relevant behind these locks.” She blew out a breath of air, puffing up a cloud of dust from the mechanism. “This is a project for another day.”

A woman in a long purple dress stood facing away from them as they stepped into the next room. Sophia opened her mouth to call out when the figure turned. Her face rotting and peeling away from the bone, her eyes white and clouded. A ghoul.

“No… no, Adria,” Nathaniel said softly, shoving Oghren to the side and rushing towards it. He turned and looked back to Sophia, “We have to help her, there has to be something we can do.” Presented with the opportunity, the ghoul lunged at him, yellow teeth bared. Sophia loosed her arrow, feeling the slightest tingle of magic as she infused her will into it, knocking the ghoul back a few paces. “No!” he yelled, even as the ghoul that was once Adria attacked again.

Adria did not stand up against their blades for long. A few skeleton archers stepped out from the tunnel, but Sophia easily dropped them. When all of the Darkspawn had fallen, Sophia sighed, relaxing her stance.

“Are you so intent on murdering everyone who has ever been my family?” Nathaniel dropped to his knees and pulled Adria into his arms. Cradling the dead woman he looked up accusingly. “We could have helped her, done… something.” Before she had a chance to respond he sighed and shook his head. “No, I know.”

They’d moved away, giving the man some space, and began to cautiously look around the room. Large chunks of stone had collapsed, blocking any hope of moving forward. She sighed, they would make no more progress today. Nathaniel had carried the woman out of the lower levels of the keep himself, and was even now seeing to a funeral pyre for her and the other Howe servants who had not survived. Technically, as Arlessa, it was her duty to assist. But she could not shake his accusing words. Although he had recanted them almost immediately, there was far too much truth to make her entirely comfortable.

Again, she found herself struggling to sleep. She’d not had this much difficulty since the Joining. Then, the nightmares of the Archdemon had plagued her every moment. Alistair had told her it was normal for a new Warden and that in time they would ease. They hadn’t, only found themselves replaced with another kind of nightmare. Memories of Alistair taking the Morrigan to his bed taunted her. At the time, it had seemed the only option. She was not willing to sacrifice herself, or Alistair, and she could not rely on a Warden she had only just met to ensure that Anora did not become queen. As it turned out, she’d been wise not to count on Riordan. The man had grievously wounded the dragon, but had failed to strike the killing blow. Either she, or Alistair would have had to do it. Were it not for the child that Alistair had planted in Morrigan during the Dark Ritual, one of them would now be dead.

She’d insisted on being present, not wanting Alistair to endure alone. It would be a burden that they would share, she had told him. But she had not anticipated the way the memories would cling to her. At first, she had wondered, almost selfishly hoping, that the ritual would fail to happen. Indeed, when Alistair had revealed himself, naked, to Morrigan, his cock had been limp, the revulsion on his face suggesting the reason. But Morrigan had pushed him onto the bed and begun to seduce him. Her fingers and lips expertly caressing him, toying and teasing his body until at last he moaned. She’d pulled back then, eliciting the softest whimper from Alistair, and had begun to slowly strip away her clothing, not that her outfit had hidden much of her form to begin with. She had shed her breeches before they began, but now she knelt above Alistair’s prone form and slowly unwound the leather skirt. Her pale thighs seemed to glow in the firelight and she ground herself down onto his pelvis lightly before slowly lifting the purple strip of fabric that was her shirt.

Alistair turned his head, refusing to look at her breasts. His eyes seeking out Sophia where she had sat, curled into a ball on a chair just outside the gleam of the fire. Morrigan’s breasts were full and heavy. Around her torso wound a single delicate golden chain that met the two chains that dropped from the choker around her pale throat, one at each nipple. Her nipples were swollen with arousal, pinched firmly in small clamps and hanging between them were several more gold chains. Letting Alistair keep his eyes averted for the moment, she took his large callused hands in her small ones and guided them to the outside of her thighs. Slowly, their hands moved in tandem up her sides until they rested on the sides of her breasts. His hands stayed where they were when she released them, her own hands going to the picks that held up her dark hair in a bun. Pulling them loose, she tossed them to the side and her hair unraveled, cascading down her back, stopping just above the cleft of her ass.

She pulled her hair over the shoulder opposite where Sophia was watching, ensuring nothing would be hidden from view, as her hand went to one of the clamps over her nipple. With a soft moan she released it, letting the clamp fall free, the weight tugging painfully at the other nipple, still trapped in the vice and eliciting another moan. She twisted her body as she bent forward and dragged the swollen nipple across Alistair’s lips. Again and again she let the abused bud run over his mouth until his focus turned back to her. Wrapping her long fingernails around the back of his neck, she presented her breast to him, and he opened his mouth obligingly. She held him against her as he suckled her breast, her head falling back as she groaned with pleasure.

Sophia could see the change in Alistair as his mouth wrapped around Morrigan’s nipple. His fingers dug into the sides of her breasts, and she thought he could hear him moan around the pliable flesh at his lips. A shudder went through his body, and he began to suckle her in earnest.

“That’s it, my pet,” Morrigan’s voice was low and dark as she encouraged him. His hand went to her other nipple and flicked the clamp experimentally. Morrigan keened her pleasure. Her nipple fell from his mouth and he swiped his tongue across it gently before replacing the clamp before turning his attentions to the other one. His thick cock which had only managed to stiffen a little had been laying against his thigh, nestled in the blond curls. It rose now, thick and swollen with desire as he nuzzled his lover’s breasts. Growling, he wrapped his hands around Morrigan’s small waist, plucked her off of him and threw her forcefully onto the bed. He was on top of her in an instant, burying himself deep in side of her.

Alistair had taken Morrigan in a way he had never touched Sophia. He dominated the witch, driving himself into her over and over again. His powerful thrusts had sent Morrigan over the edge and she’d climaxed around his cock, urging him to use her more even as she screamed. Then, the Ritual had truly began. She dug her nails into Alistair’s back, the muscles rippling under her hands as he fucked her. He came as the blood dripped over the tanned skin and she had begun to chant. Dark magic swirled around them as he continued to drive into her. His cock still hard despite his orgasm. He leaned over her, lapping at her breasts and sucking her nipples while she performed the spell. The air in the room seemed to crackle in anticipation until Morrigan’s chanting reached a fevered peak and she climaxed again. Alistair gasped and leaned over the witch, capturing her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply, his hands palming her chest as he spilled seed into her again.

Sophia’s eyes stung with unshed tears as she watched them. One hand had moved to tangle in Morrigan’s dark hair, while the other toyed with her nipple, as he continue to slide himself in and out of her cunt. Sophia was unable to look away. The scene holding her in a trance as the pair writhed in pleasure on the bed. Even long after the fire had died, Alistair continued to fuck Morrigan. Sophia lost count of how many times the witch had cried out at the height of passion and climaxed around her lover’s cock. Alistair, too, had the stamina of one possessed. Again and again he spilled his hot seed into her.

The first hint of dawn broke into the room, its pale pink light shining on the wet naked skin of the couple collapsed on the bed. Morrigan was sprawled on top of Alistair, his arms wrapped around her, their lips pressed together in an almost gentle kiss. Even now, hours later and exhausted, he was rolling his hips and rocking his cock into her well-used pussy.

“Breed me again, my pet,” Morrigan crooned against his lips. And he had responded. Digging his heels into the bed he pushed himself up into her with a growl and came. “Very good,” she praised him, running a long fingernail down the side of his face and he had moaned, trying to grind himself deeper. But she had risen, letting his now flaccid cock slide from her.

He whimpered pitifully. “Please.” He’d begged as she pulled a robe around her. But she had only laughed and left the room without a word.

Her laugh seemed to break the spell that had captured him, and he suddenly sat up and looked over at Sophia in horror. Morrigan’s words seemed to come back and mock them _I daresay, you might even enjoy it._ Sophia unraveled herself and walked from the room with him calling after her. The tears that had threatened to fall all night had come, but she paid them no mind as she closed the door behind her, leaving Alistair alone in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

After the final battle, she had tried to release Alistair from their engagement but he would not hear of it. Morrigan had disappeared, as she had promised, and he insisted that they would be able to put it behind them. For her part, she was willing to try. It had been she who’d agreed to Morrigan’s plan, desperate as she was to save the man she loved from their fate. He was king of Ferelden, he would not have consented to remaining behind whilst she and Riordan had gone up against the archdemon. And he would not have allowed her to sacrifice herself so that he could live.

Sophia’s hands clenched until her nails dug into her palms. Perhaps it would have been better if he had died. The thought had shocked her the first time. But as the months passed she saw that the man she had loved had died that day despite everything they had done. He had re-pledged himself to the Templars. Not officially, it would not do for the king to be dependent on lyrium, but in every other way. He championed their causes, led them as he had never bothered to lead the Wardens. And it seemed he could hardly bring himself to touch her.

That had cut the deepest. At first, he had told her that he needed time to recover. Of that she had no doubt, magic came at a cost, and the Dark Ritual had exhausted him. Then they had been married. On their wedding night, he’d been awkward. Although they had shared a bed and each other’s bodies for months during the Blight, he fumbled nervously. Only managing to get half hard, he’d tried to slide into her anyway. A few moments later he rolled away, cursing and apologizing profusely. She’d reassured him. Told him that she understood, that there had been so much stress upon them both, all the while fighting to hold back her own sobs.

Again and again that scene had played out. Months went by and each time it chipped away a piece of her soul. “I hate myself,” she’d whispered to an empty room. She was standing naked in front of their mirror, looking over her body and comparing it to Morrigan’s from her memory. She was shorter, more compact. Her breasts were not as large, but they suited her frame, and the curve of her hip may not have been as pronounced but despite her mostly muscular figure she still looked like a woman underneath the armor and scars. Sophia had loathed the other woman. She had vowed to hunt her down and kill her. But she knew that Morrigan had only done what she had promised. And so, the hatred had turned inward. Furious, and full of self-loathing, Sophia had smashed the mirror with her bare fist shattering the glass and cutting her hand on the shards. The pain and blood had brought a clarity to her thoughts for the first time since she had watched her husband drive himself into Morrigan’s cunt.

She was the fucking Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It had been she who organized their allies in support of Arl Eamon’s plan to put Alistair on the throne. Alistair’s blade might have ended his life, but it was her bow, her arrows, that had defeated Teryn Loghain. She had killed the archdemon, ending the Blight. Now she was standing in her room, crying because her husband didn’t want to have sex with her?

“Well, fuck him.” She had said, repeating the words softly in her room now. And that was exactly what she had and hadn’t done. That night she had announced that it was long past time that she take up her duties as Grey Warden Commander. By the next morning she was gone, headed to Vigil’s Keep.

The anger at the memories and flashbacks wore her out in a way that fighting through the lower levels of the keep had been unable to do. Finally spent, she fell back against the pillows and slept.

Slowly, the little band of Wardens at Vigil’s Keep began to grow together. Standing a little aloof because of her position as Commander and Queen, Sophia watched as Anders and Nathaniel teased each other. Taking it in turn to pick on the dwarf, who gave as good as he got. It reminded her of the camaraderie she’d felt with the others during the Blight. Brief moments of respite when they’d sat around the fire in camp, talking and laughing, and forgetting the terrible task that had been given them. Now again, it seemed as though they had been faced with a terrible task. She had wanted to believe that Darkspawn who had spoken to them in the battle for the Keep had been a mistake. A blip. One cruel leftover joke from the Blight. But it was not to be so. For they’d found others. And it was all too clear that the Darkspawn were organized. She had no idea what any of it meant, and it was not as though there were older, more experienced Wardens that she could ask for advice. No, everyone looked to her. For it was the Wardens who were meant to know how to handle the Darkspawn.

Finally, it was time to leave for the city of Amaranthine. Thanks to a series of impressive dwarven doors they had closed off the lower levels from the Deep Roads, securing the Keep, for now. The journey would take approximately a week, although there were several reports of roaming groups of Darkspawn and opportunistic bandits that could cause any number of delays. She left the Senechal and Captain in charge, ignoring the protests of Mistress Woolsey who wanted them to travel south, clearing the passage to Denerim.

It would have been, perhaps, the smarter decision, to clear the merchant route to Ferelden’s capital first. But the thought of heading back the way she had came, back towards Alistair… The thought filled her with revulsion and she decided, instead, to stay isolated in this northern sanctuary (such as it was) for now. It was important, she had said, for her to make an appearance in the large coastal city. A secondary motivation was to attempt to make contact with the mysterious figure known as the Dark Wolf. A noblewoman, Ser Tamra, had suggested she seek him out and enlist his aid in uncovering a conspiracy to take the Arling from her.

The journey to the city was surprisingly uneventful. Only she and Oghren knew each other, so evenings around the campfire were more subdued than she had grown used to during the Blight. Anders, for his part, made considerable effort to get to know the other Wardens. Sophia found that her initial impression of the apostate was accurate, and that she liked the man very much. He was intelligent, quick-witted, and had a wicked sense of humor. By contrast, Nathaniel had seemed to withdraw into himself. He kept himself apart from the others. Nothing in his behavior was outwardly rude or insubordinate, he obeyed every command he was given, saw to his duties around the camp, but he refrained from joining in with any of the joking, or growing friendship between the others.

The night before they arrived in the city, Sophia pulled Nathaniel aside. In her hand she carried the small packet of his sister’s letters. She tapped them against her palm nervously as they stepped away from the campfire. He looked at her, clearly confused, but declined to inquire, waiting instead for her to break the somewhat awkward silence.

“I… found these,” she said, declining to mention where precisely she had found them, or just how long she had been holding onto them.

“What?” He looked down at the stack, even more confused than he had been before until he saw the direction written in a neat hand on the front of the envelope. “Letters… to my… sister?” His voice had lost some of its sullen nature, and he eagerly shuffled through the letters.

“I’ll take your turn at first watch, enjoy the letters.” She smiled nervously and headed back to the campfire before he had a chance to respond.

When they approached the outskirts of the city, Sophia found herself walking next to Nathaniel. After a few moments of walking in silence, he cleared his throat.

“Commander?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you. For the letters.”

“Of course, they were not mine to keep.”

“I think…” he stopped, and the silence stretched heavily between them. “There is a chance that my sister is alive. I had thought… well…” he waved his hand absently. “Her friend writes in the letters to congratulate her of an engagement. And I believe the man lives in Amaranthine, and perhaps he knows what has become of her. If I might…”

“Of course,” she said again. “I cannot spare Oghren or Anders, but when we reach the city, take the day for yourself. Meet us in the pub, I assume this town has one? For supper.”

“Thank you, Commander. Aye, the Crown and Lion.” He paused. “Are you not… are you afraid that I simply will not return?”

“If you don’t, then I will simply have to hunt you down,” she winked at him, surprising herself.

He smiled, surprising them both.

Amaranthine was quite different than Denerim. The streets were smaller, more closed off, and everything was covered in layers of dust, dirt or grime. Nathaniel took his leave, leaving them to search for hints of the Dark Wolf. It seemed they were to be spared the search, a nervous looking guard approached with a letter.

“Ser? Are you the Commander of the Grey Wardens?”

“I am.”

“Ser, it’s an honor.” She made a small gesture of respect and continued. “I was paid ten sovereigns to give you this. From a Ser Wolf of Rivain.” Handing Sophia a folded piece of parchment she bowed, then turned smartly on her heel and went back to her post.

Oghren and Anders both snorted. “Ser Wolf of Rivain. Suuubtle,” Anders chuckled.

“It cannot be that simple,” Sophia said, unfolding the letter and skimming it. “But it appears we are to meet the elusive Dark Wolf.” Silently, she cursed. Nathaniel and his ability to meld into the shadows was precisely the sort of backup that she would have wanted in a situation like this. As it was, she would have to make do. “Anders, keep your distance. Pretend to be merely a visitor to the city, about your business. If the Dark Wolf makes any movement that you consider hostile, attempt to incapacitate him.”

“Yes, ser.” Anders waited a moment for any further instructions and then moved away a discrete distance and started to eye the merchant stalls thoughtfully. He tailed them as they made their way deeper into the city towards the location indicated in the note.

When they reached the far end of the city Sophia looked around. Near the gate stood a guard who did not seem to fit in with the rest. He shifted a little awkwardly as she studied him. Curious, she approached him. “Good day.”

Scuffing his boot on the rough dirt of the road he inclined his head, “Ser, I have been waiting for you.”

Sophia folded her arms, leaning back on one hip lazily. “And now I am here.”

He takes a moment to respond, his hand reaching for and then releasing the sword buckled to his belt. “I have some information for you. Information you need if you’re going to survive.” His voice is low and forced.

Trying to hold back a snicker, Sophia wonders briefly just how long he practiced that in a mirror. “I see. And you will of course want a donation for the trouble that you went through to get it.”

The man nods quickly, his hand raised to rub his face collides with the full helmet he wears instead of skin and Sophia could imagine the look of surprise on his face. “I believe fifty sovereigns is a fair price, for the life of the Queen.”

“Is that a threat?” Oghren growled, speaking for the first time. His hand was clutched around the hilt of his sword. Out of the corner of her eye Sophia could see Anders prepare to strike. She signaled him quickly to stand down, hoping he understood the gesture.

“Easy friend. I am sure the Dark Wolf meant no harm.” She turned back to the stranger. “You are the Dark Wolf, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!” he blustered. “Who else could have uncovered this information?”

“Indeed,” she said slowly. “Well then. It would seem I have little choice.” At this the man straightened eagerly. “By order of the Commander of the Grey Wardens of Ferelden, and the Queen, you are under arrest.”

“What?!” he exploded, drawing his sword and advancing on her.

Oghren met his blade with a shield, and the two were immediately locked into a fight. Anders dropped all pretense of being a shopper and immediately began casting his shields and wards while Sophia reached for her bow. They drew the attention of several guards who, upon seeing the crest of the Grey Wardens on her tunic, stood back. It was over quickly. Oghren pinned the man against the fence with his shield as Sophia stepped to his side, an arrow pointed at his throat.

“Take this man into custody,” she ordered. The guards quickly moved to obey her. The Dark Wolf sputtered and shouted as they hauled him off, and Sophia simply shook her head. “Well,” she said as they approached the Crown and Lion, “It would appear this trip has been a rather large waste of our time.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Anders said quietly. Sophia stopped and looked at him curiously. “I can explain inside, if I may?” She nodded and motioned them both into the pub.

Once they were seated, her hands wrapped around a large stone mug filled with mead, she looked over expectantly at Anders. They had taken a table as far from the noisy dinner crowd as possible but visible from the door so that Nathaniel would see them when he arrived. She considered, for a moment, what they would do if he did not. Despite her earlier claim that she would simply hunt him down, there was very little simple about it. But there was little she could do about it just now. The chatter provided excellent cover for a conversation that should not be overheard and she waited for the mage to speak.

He took a long pull of beer from his mug before he started. “What do you know of the Templars, the Chantry, the Circle, and apostates, like myself?”

“Very little,” Sophia admitted. “I know that the Chantry, through the Templars, keep a rather tight grip on the Circle of Magi. And that any who wield magic outside of that boundary are considered apostates.”

“Yes, that would about sum it up. I gather,” he said with a smirk, “That you do not share the king’s view on apostates. Or I would not be here I think. Thank you, for that,” he added as his smirk broadened into a smile.

It was then Nathaniel appeared. His face was closed off. Not, this time, with anger, but deeply thoughtful. He slipped onto the bench next to Sophia and accepted the mug of mead without a word. She looked at him, concealing her worry as best she could, choosing to give the man his privacy and declining to interrupt the conversation with Anders.

“You are welcome Anders. You have been a worthy addition to the Grey Wardens.”

He saluted her with his mug and continued. “Every mage that has ever been discovered and captured by the Templars has had their blood taken to create something called a phylactery. A bit of blood magic, in order to keep us in chains. Ironic, no? With these, no apostate can ever remain free from the iron fist of the Chantry for long. It allows them to track us, no matter how far we go, and I have theorized it would enable them to cast spells on us from a distance as well. After all, it is a piece of our truest selves.”

“So that is how they keep finding you.”

“Indeed. Normally the phylacteries are kept in Denerim, behind wards and shields such that no one could hope to penetrate. However, I have learned that before the end of the Blight, they were moved to Amaranthine for safety. And now, I have learned precisely where.”

“And you would like me, us, to find it and destroy it.” She finished his thought, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table as she considered his unspoken request.

“I realize that breaking into a Templar-held building, and stealing an item of little monetary value is beneath you, Commander. If you do not wish to help, I request permission to do it on my own.”

At this, Oghren snorted. “Y’not know Sophia as well as y’think,” he slurred. Both Anders and Nathaniel looked over at the dwarf who was well into his cups. “That man she arrested today was not the Dark Wolf,” he laughed.

Nathaniel broke in, speaking for the first time since he sat down. “What has that got to do with anything, and how do you…” Sophia could see the exact moment his mind put the pieces together. Oghren grinned and touched his thick finger to the side of his nose. “You’re the Dark Wolf…” he said looking at Sophia in awe.

She blushed slightly and glanced around to make sure no one had taken up an interest in their conversation. “I am,” she admitted.

“That’s why you didn’t take him up on his offer, or let him go,” Anders said, finally understanding.

“Mmmm,” she nodded. “Can’t have anyone besmirching my good name. And now the guards are less likely to be looking for me.”

“Well then… will you help me?”

“Of course.” There was little to consider. She had no love for the Chantry or its Templars. The idea that they kept such a firm grip on the Mages bothered her deeply, it had ever since they had prevented the Templars from killing every mage left alive in the Tower after the ‘incident’. They claimed to be protecting the world from the evil that is a mage gone mad with power, but from what she had seen the Chantry was deeply corrupt. Addicting the Templars to lyrium, executing apostates, and now blood magic. She shuddered. “In theory, as Commander of the Grey Wardens, I should be able to ask for your phylactery outright. But where’s the fun in that?” she smirked. “You have the location?” Anders nodded. “Alright, we’ll check it out tomorrow. And if all seems well, then tomorrow night we’ll break in.”

Sophia went quiet, but Anders and Oghren chatted amiably. Anders persuaded the dwarf to tell tales of their escapades in Denerim as the Dark Wolf and she sat back, listening fondly. Nathaniel did not participate in the discussion but remained until Sophia stood to take her leave. She did not hear him following her as she made her way down the hall to their rooms, but before she could close the door behind her, an hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

“It’s just me,” Nathaniel said calmly as she startled and drew her dagger. “Could I speak with you? Privately?”

She hesitated. It would not be particularly difficult for him to assassinate her here. Immediately she dismissed the thought. All he had to do was stab her in her sleep while he was on watch, there was no need to risk such a public place. Gesturing him past her into the room, she closed the door. “What is it?”

Instead of answering right away he began to pace across the small room. Sophia waited, he would speak when his thoughts finally coalesced into words. “Delilah says I should thank you, for killing our father.” She blinked, stunned. “For Andraste’s sake, it was a WAR! I thought he had his reasons.” For a long moment the only sound was the muffled padding of his leather boots against the rough wood. “I can’t help but think… if I hadn’t left, maybe… I could have done something to stop him.” He stopped pacing and stood in front of her. His voice was quiet and small. “I have been a fool. Sophia, please forgive me.”

“Of course. I… I will not pretend to feel sorrow that Rendon Howe is dead. I do not regret my actions.” Although there were several inches between him, she could feel the muscles in his body tense, his jaw clenched and he looked away. Gently, she lifted a hand and turned his face back to meet her gaze hoping that her expression mirrored the sincerity of the emotion. “But I am sorry that you lost your father. You lost the man you thought he was. You are allowed to mourn that.” Her own words surprised her. She hated Rendon Howe more than she hated the Archdemon that had taken so much from Fereldon. Hated him more than Loghain who had killed the king and started the Civil War. And she felt sure that no matter what happened in her life, there would not be anyone that she hated as deeply as she hated the man who had taken her mother and father from her. But Nathaniel was not mourning that man. Her eyes pricked with tears and she blinked away the sting, remembering how fresh her grief had been. How fresh it still was. Life had swept her away after the events at Highever Keep, it continued to carry her away so that instead of dealing with the death of her parents she simply found herself more and more removed from it.

His hand came up to cover hers and she shivered. “Thank you,” he said simply and then turned to leave her alone with her thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get heated.
> 
> With the Chantry and with Nathaniel.

The warehouse that Anders led them to was tucked into the corner of the city. No guards were visible from the outside and they agreed to return at nightfall to break into the building and retrieve the phylactery. Nathaniel circled the building, melting in to the shadows, as Sophia picked the lock to the side door. As they slipped into the first room they found it free of any guards.

Cautiously, Sophia signaled for Oghren to move into the back room of the warehouse. Nathaniel waited by the side of the door while Sophia and Anders stood back, bow and staff at the ready. The dwarf nudged open the door and then grunted in surprise.

“So predictable,” came a cold voice from inside. “Templars, arrest the apostate.”

“I do not think so,” Sophia replied, moving in front of Anders and stepping into the room. There was Lieutenant Rylock, smirking as she stood next to two Templars in full plate armor. “We have already settled this, Lieutenant, Anders is a member of the Grey Wardens, and therefore not subject to the rules of the Chantry.”

“The authority of the Chantry supersedes all others in matters of the Circle of Magi and apostates. I knew the lure of his phylactery would be too great a temptation. Arrest him,” she repeated, her voice more icy than before.

“I. Said. No.” Sophia growled, lifting her bow slightly and dropping into a fighting stance.

“Surely you are not going to fight a distinguished member of the Chantry,” said Rylock smoothly.

“You would not be the first member of the Chantry to fall to one of my arrows,” Sophia replied, ignoring the gasps and surprised stares from Anders and Nathaniel.

“Careful Commander, or I may have my Templars arrest you too.”

“If you would arrest me for that crime, then you must also imprison the King. For he was there.”

Rylock’s face flashed with anger and some other emotion Sophia could not quite identify. “You are clouding the issue,” she snapped. “Will you allow us to arrest him? Or will we have to put you all down?”

Sophia’s answer was an arrow, aimed low, at the small bit of skin above the knee that was not covered in plate. Rylock shrieked in rage, drawing her sword and fell upon Sophia furiously.

The battle was difficult. In such close quarters the three templars and Oghren seemed to take up most of the space. Nathaniel flitted about the fight, incapacitating the attackers and allowing Oghren and Sophia to keep to the offense. After her initial attack on the Lieutenant, Sophia concentrated on the two Templars. Oghren was able to keep them at bay, thanks to Nathaniel’s assistance, and before long they were bleeding out on the floor. Then, the four of them turned to Rylock. She was bleeding heavily and her armor was dented painfully, preventing her from drawing a full breath.

“Will you yield?” Sophia called out, her arrow ready. Oghren stepped back, and Nathaniel materialized at her side.

Rylock looked up at them and spit out a mouthful of blood and teeth. “If you kill me, others will come for him. We will not stop.”

Sophia took in the other woman. Measuring for herself the cold fury in the Templar’s eyes. “Anders, is a member of the Grey Wardens. If you touch him, you bring upon you the wrath of us all.” She nodded to Oghren who brought his sword hilt down on Rylock’s head, knocking her out cold. “Quickly,” Sophia ordered. “Look for the phylacteries. Don’t bother locating just Anders’, if you find them, smash them all.”

They spread out, searching the room. In one of the crates they found several pieces of armor that seemed to be imbued with magical properties, and two books which seemed of value bundled into another chest. She had Oghren and Anders collect them, and they left the warehouse, and Lieutenant Rylock.

“We’re not staying here another night. There are four of us, and the Chantry has a presence in this city. I will not risk it. Does anyone have anything of value still at the inn?” The three men shook their heads and she nodded in approval. “We leave tonight. By the time the Lieutenant wakes, we will be well on our way back to the Keep. She will not dare confront us there. For all Alistair may side with the Templars, he will not authorize a full scale attack of the Grey Warden stronghold.” With a twinge, Sophia pushed down the small part of her that suggested she may indeed be mistaken. It made little difference, no other option was as likely to protect them as that.

“You could turn me in, or turn me loose.” Anders said quietly.

Sophia shook her head. “Not an option, not while I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens. If we turn you loose, they will catch you again so long as they have your phylactery, and I do not think they will be content with merely locking you in the tower this time.” Her lips pulled into a dry smirk. “And I am personally very insulted that you would think for a moment that I would turn you in to those monsters.”

The trek back to Vigil’s Keep was a fast one. They walked all day, made camp only when it seemed as though they would fall over from exhaustion, and rested only long enough that they felt as though they could stand again. It took them three days to reach the safety of the walls, and as the gate closed behind them, Sophia felt as though she could take her first full breath since she had seen Lieutenant Rylock in the warehouse.

Her body relaxed, unclenching muscles she hadn’t realized were so tense. She found herself looking forward to a proper night’s sleep in her own bed and the quiet of the country after the noise and dirtiness of the city. It was not to be so. When the Senechal approached her, the look on his face sent a shock of fear through her that somehow the Templars had managed to beat them to the Keep and they would be facing yet another battle.

But it was a battle of a different sort that he presented to her. As Arlessa of the Keep, it was her duty to preside over the court, resolving their petty civil quarrels. It had been some time since a court day was called, and the nobles were becoming increasingly restless. The Senechal had promised that upon her return, court would be called.

“Not today,” she snapped when he tried to call for the messengers. “Look at me, I am covered in blood and sweat, I have not slept more than a handful of hours in a few days. If you ask me to make a ruling now, I’m likely to say hang them all!” The look on his face was horrified, and she felt slightly embarrassed by the violent implication of her outburst. She was grateful that they were alone in the throne room. “I want to be fair,” she tried again, taking care to control her tone. “And in my current state I do not represent what this arling is to be. Call for them tomorrow. Court day, followed by a dinner here, in the Keep. That should satisfy them, no?”

He agreed quickly, and she wondered if she had frightened the man so much that he would have agreed to anything simply to be free of her. She knew that he, and the Arling, needed this of her. Even as she was preparing to go to Denerim the next day. They could not continue on with the threat of the Chantry’s pursuit of Anders. And she could not stand by and let him keep on with this noose ever tightening around his neck. So long as the Chantry retained his phylactery the Templars would be able to find them wherever they were.

The thought of how the Chantry controlled the mages sickened her. And she wondered how all the time with Wynne and the woman had not said anything. Although, she recalled as she stretched out on her bed after a long bath, Wynne seemed to be quite devoted to the Chantry and believed it was their place to oversee the Mages. She had seen firsthand what the Mages were capable of. Still, Sophia thought, men devoid of any magical talent were also capable of horrors and abominations on a scale that would truly horrify. Mages were not the only ones to turn into abominations, it was only they quite literally transformed physically, instead of being able to remain hidden, pretending. She let the thoughts of revenge against the Chantry for this one mage at least carry her off to sleep. Perhaps, she thought wickedly as her dreams claimed her, she would recruit even more Mages, freeing them of the Chantry’s chains. It was not as though they did not need more Grey Wardens.

The next morning she rose early, and instead of her leather armor she donned a heavy green gown instead. Small whorls of silver threaded across the bodice and the neck was laced low, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts. Her dark hair was brushed until it shone, and it hung free just above her bare shoulders. The Senechal had insisted that she also wear the crown, and so she nestled the delicate white gold and diamond circlet on top of her head. She ran her hands along the front of the dress, wishing that it did not reveal quite so much of her cleavage, or cling quite so tightly to her hips before floating gently away to the floor. But, she conceded as she looked at herself in the mirror, her battle-hardened body was able to pull it off and the effect was rather stunning.

Impulsively, she picked up the small silver hoop and threaded it through the piercing in her right nostril. Zevran had given her the silver hoop and done the piercing before he had left the castle after the wedding. Something to remember him by, he had said. For some reason, Alistair had hated it and in her efforts to please him, she did not wear it often although she treasured it greatly. In truth it was not particularly practical to wear in a fight. But today would be a day for politics, and as she ran a finger over the cold metal, she knew she wanted as much armor as she could possibly put on. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed to the throne room.

Sophia tried to be as fair as she could be. Against the Senechal’s suggestion, she had the poor farmer conscripted into the regular army instead of hanged. She overturned Howe’s traitorous deal, allowing Ser Derren to keep his land, although from the look in Lady Packton’s eye she was certain that doing so had made her yet another enemy. But it was the case of Ser Tamra’s murder that caused her the most difficult. She had no doubt that Ser Temmerly was to blame. Despite the lack of evidence, it was clear to her. And yet, without proof, what could she do? Finally, she decreed that he be executed. A strong message to those that stood against her, she was ready for them. The nobles that were going to conspire against her had already made up their minds to do so, there would be little she could do to stop them. But, perhaps this would deter others from rising up. Or, just as likely, she thought as she stepped down from the dais, it would further deepen the conflict with the nobles and drive them to even greater lengths to remove her from the arling. Truly, she had decided, there were no good options, and removing an immediate threat seemed a prudent idea.

People mingled around the throne room as the cooks brought out platters of food, placing them on tables that lined the large room. Sophia slipped between them exchanging pleasantries here and there. Finally she found herself at the edges of the crowd, standing next to Nathaniel as he looked up at a portrait. He was dressed in his dark leather vest and breeches, the only concession to the day at court as opposed to one spent fighting Darkspawn was the lack of gloves. His longsword was still strapped to his back, while his dagger hung at his hip. He spoke quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the din of the room. She stepped closer to him so that she could hear, her shoulder pressed lightly against his upper arm.

“Of all the things that remain, it would be this portrait.” He chuckled, not taking his eyes from the painting.

“Your mother?” Sophia asked.

“Good guess, do I look like her?” He chuckled again, but this time his eyes dropped down to look at her and turned a little, their arms still touching. “My father, hated my mother. The only time this painting saw the light of day was the rare occasion my grandmother visited. We would be paraded out in front of her like a soldier on inspection and she would pick at every flaw while father awaited his turn.”

“Don’t you have any fond memories of your family?”

He leaned down, almost conspiratorially, and faux-whispered, “That was a fond memory.” He straighted before continuing. “I know, I know it’s strange. But I have almost no memories of my family at all. I have spent most of my life in the Free Marches.”

Sophia felt her heart clench. Her childhood had been so happy, full of love and family. Without thinking, she reached out and took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Nathaniel.” Something primal flashed across his features, and his hand suddenly felt hot in hers. She dropped his hand and before she could say anything, Anders draped himself in between them.

He swayed unsteadily, “Heyyyyyy Commander…. Nathaniel.” His breath smelled of ale and his eyes had a drunken glaze to them.

“I’ll take him to his room.” Nathaniel said, wrapping his strong arm around the tall, slim man. Sophia tried to ignore the way his hand brushed her side.

“Or… you could take me to your room,” Anders cooed.

“Maybe next time,” Nathaniel laughed.

Sophia turned away. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, pretending as though there was no jealousy in her voice.

After everyone had left Sophia retired to her chambers as soon as she had seen the last guest out. When the large wooden door closed behind her she sagged against it and let out the breath it seemed she had been holding since she’d stupidly taken Nathaniel’s hand. What had she been thinking? She was married… to the KING! She plucked the crown off her head and held it in her hands, turning it slowly and watching the candle light dance off the precious stones. Everything in her wanted to fling it as far away from her as she could, she loathed every single thing it represented. Instead she forced herself to walk calmly over to the dresser and slide it into the drawer.

Her eyes lifted to the door to Nathaniel’s room. She had not seen him return from depositing a drunk Anders, and although she held her breath to listen she could not hear any sounds from within. A sudden stab of something that horrifically resembled jealousy clutched at her heart. Had he taken Anders up on his offer then? Anders had made little secret of the fact that he found Nathaniel attractive. Perhaps his tastes did lie in that direction. It was not, she told herself, a flimsy excuse to knock on the door leading to his room. A charade to see him again. No, she insisted as she argued with herself, it was simply that she wanted to make sure that the Warden under her command had been taken care of. It had nothing to do with wanting to see if she had imagined the heat that had passed between them. Absolutely nothing to do with that.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said aloud to the empty room. Before she could stop herself she rapped firmly on the door.

It swung open and she found herself looking at a lean, tightly muscled chest, with a dusting of dark black hair that coalesced in the center. Her eyes followed it down to where it disappeared under the low slung leather of his pants. Her breath caught as she followed the dip in his stomach muscles that led to his pelvis.

Nathaniel coughed, pulling her attention up to his face. He searched her flushed face, but held his tongue. Just once, his gaze dipped below her eyes, to low-laced neckline of her gown. The fabric straining just slightly across her chest.

“I… just wanted to make sure that you had gotten Anders to his room alright.” The excuse was pitiful, and they both knew it.

“I did,” there was only the faintest hint of a smirk on his face. “Was there anything else you needed, Commander?”

Yes her mind screamed as she stood inches from him. “No,” her lips said anyway. “I’m sorry to interrupt your evening.”

“Anytime,” he replied, and she cursed herself for imagining there was a hint of an invitation in his voice. He started to close the door and then paused before he stepped back. “You looked breathtaking tonight, Sophia.”

“Fuck,” she said quietly when the door had clicked closed. All the same, she heard a faint chuckle from the other room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia and Nathaniel have a few talks, and the group heads to Denerim... hopefully before Rylock gets there!

They left for Denerim the next morning, shortly after dawn. She spoke to no one as they set out on the road. The sun had not yet burned off the mist, and the fog clung to the hills making it seem as though they were at the very edge of the world. All she could hear was the metallic clink of Oghren’s armor as they walked. Her bow was in her hand, but it was not loaded, and her mind wandered. She set a quick pace, knowing they needed to reach the capital as soon as possible. They’d packed lightly, eschewing tents in exchange for thick bedrolls, hunting gear, and first aid supplies. They stopped for the night before dusk and set up traps. Dinner was whatever they had managed to catch the day before. At night they slept in a circle around the fire.

Nathaniel did not speak directly to her until three nights into their journey. Earlier in the day they had fought off a party of Darkspawn. Genlocks and a few hurlocks that had been roaming the roads and terrorizing travelers. Once they had dispatched of them and pulled the bodies some distance from the road, the walked another half an hour before stopping for the night well before sunset. Oghren had headed into the woods for something larger than the small hares they’d been subsisting on, and Anders had decided to accompany him.

Suddenly being alone with Nathaniel had sent Sophia flitting about the camp nervously. She’d prepared a small potage of vegetables that they’d dug up yesterday, and then began conditioning her bow string, after surviving the Blight, her weapon of choice was beginning to show some wear. When he’d come to sit beside her she’d nearly jumped out of her skin. He chuckled softly, settling in on the log and stretching out his long legs out in front of him.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I was lost in my own thoughts, not paying nearly as much attention as I should have to my surroundings.”

“I’ve wanted to talk to you since we returned from Amarathine. But it never seemed appropriate.”

“Is everything alright?”

He let out a long breath. “You know… I spoke with my sister.” She nodded and he continued. “She had some… disturbing things to tell me, about my father. About the things he did,” he shifted uncomfortably, “to your family.”

Sophia’s breath left her in a woosh as though someone had punched her in the stomach. Her hands shook and she dropped the small bar of resin. Nathaniel reached over and covered her trembling hands with his own, steadying them.

“What I was trying to say,” he said, “is that I am sorry for how I have behaved. I was… desperately mistaken about my father. I hope that you will forgive me.” He took the bow from her and set it on his other side. He dropped his hand to the log between them, eyes downcast. “I am deeply ashamed.”

She let her hand rest beside his, not quite touching. “Thank you,” she said softly. “To be entirely honest, I don’t know that I would have reacted much differently in your situation.”

“Thank you for saying that, although I don’t really believe you.”

“Only because you don’t know me that well.”

“Yet,” he added with a smirk, looking over at her.

“Yet,” she agreed.

“Just a moment,” he stood and crossed over to his pack. He stooped and picked the bow that rested next to his bedroll. Once they had closed off the lower levels of Vigil’s Keep, they had taken a full day to explore each of the rooms. Packed in a crate, wrapped carefully in oilskin, they had found a bow, marked with the Howe crest. Now, he cradled that bow gently as he moved to sit beside her, his knee brushing against hers. His fingers ran along the wood as he spoke. “I’m not the first Howe to become a Grey Warden.”

“Really?”

“My grandfather, Padric Howe. He joined the order just after the war, before the Wardens were permitted to return to Ferelden. He was never heard from again.” He exhaled slowly. “Now that I know of the Joining, I think that perhaps he died.”

“Many good men and women do.”

“I know that now. But my father used to say he was a horrible man, giving up his family to join a pointless cause. I grew up ashamed of him, and so proud of my father. And now… This will take some getting used to I think. My grandfather was the last to use this bow, but it was made for our family during the Exalted Marches. It’s nice to know there is some bravery in in my family’s legacy. I… I want you to have it.” He placed the bow in her lap.

“I can’t… it’s your family heirloom.” She tried to hand it back, but he wrapped his hand around hers and pushed it back into her lap.

“And I want you to have it. My skill is with blades, knives. Oh, I can shoot a bow to be sure, but I have watched you fight, and you are magnificent. It is truly an honor to witness. You would do this bow justice.”

Several responses flitted to the tip of her tongue, but she dismissed them all. It would be rude to refuse the gift, given in the manner which he had presented it to her. “Thank you, Nathaniel,” she finally said, and he smiled warmly. “I hope that I will prove worthy of it.”

“Of that I have no doubt, Sophia.”

He stayed seated beside her when the others returned, standing only to fetch bowls of the potage for them both. When he returned he sat so close that she could feel the heat of his body in the cool night air. Oghren and Anders had been unsuccessful in the hunt, but were in good spirits anyway and they all sat around the fire long after the moon had risen in the night sky, laughing and telling stories. For the first time in a while, she began to relax a little. Here, none of the problems of her life could be solved, and so she was left free of their weight to simply enjoy a beautiful evening in the company of friends. Once, she felt his leg press into hers, reaffirming the closeness of his presence. She knew that she should slide down the log some but she suddenly realized how desperately she missed the touch of another person and decided to remain where she was.

That night, as they banked the fire and prepared to crawl into their bedrolls, she felt his dark eyes on her. He had offered first watch, and was still sitting in the same spot while she pulled the blankets up over her. She knew her face was hidden in the shadows, but she could see him clearly. His expression was intense, thoughtful, and more than a little curious. She shivered, despite the warmth of the furs piled on top of her. The last thing she saw before she fell asleep were his eyes, still on her.

The city of Denerim was much as she remembered. She knew that she could have sent someone ahead to notify that guards of her arrival. The return of the Queen to the city would have been welcomed with much fanfare and celebration. For a moment she considered it. Announcing their arrival carried with it equal amounts of risk and reward. It would be difficult for the Chantry and the Templars to move openly against her with so much attention. But it would be even more difficult if they simply never knew she was in the city. Although Anders’ phylactery would tip them off, it was a calculated risk that the Templars would make for Vigil’s Keep as soon as Rylock was discovered. If the woman had even survived. There was always the possibility that she had succumbed to her injuries.

Sophia stepped into the Market District, letting herself fall into the shadows as she had seen Nathaniel do in battle. She was dressed in simple leathers, with no mark or obvious sign of her rank or position. None of them wore any armor of the Grey Wardens, looking instead like a small party of mercenaries come to test their luck in the capital city and perhaps find work. They slipped through the stalls, not stopping, but not hurrying, and came at last to the house that had been owned by Brother Genetivi. She neglected to tell the others how she had come to own the house. It was a small house, a single bedroom, workroom, and kitchen area in the main space. She kept the windows closed and asked the maid she employed to stay there in her absence to stock the pantry.

“She won’t tell anyone you are here?” Nathaniel asked after the woman left, closing the door behind her.

“No, she is quite loyal. She is from Highever. She escaped and fled here, when I found her I employed her immediately. She will not tell anyone that I am here.”

If Anders or Oghren thought it was strange that she would not notify the castle, and her husband, that she had returned to the city, they did not comment.

“What is the plan?” Anders asked. He had been somewhat subdued during the trip. At the Keep he had offered to remain behind, knowing that his presence was a homing beacon for the Templars. But Sophia had refused. He was safest in her presence, she insisted. There were too few fully trained Wardens at the Keep, and she would rather confront the Templars herself than force the guards to face them.

“There are two options. We can attempt to circumvent the Chantry defenses and steal the phylactery from them. I believe that is where they have been returned to. Or, I can confront them directly, as the Commander of the Grey Wardens, and order that they hand it over to me. And I will destroy it.”

“If you present yourself to the Chantry and inform them of your desire for my phylactery, then any chance we have to take them by surprise and steal it will be gone. They will surely double, or triple the guards when they know that is what the Hero of Ferelden is after.”

Sophia snorted at the title, but conceded his point. “And if we are caught attempting to steal it, we are in a much weaker position to negotiate.”

Oghren humphed from the corner where he sat polishing his sword. “Y’ve already treated them far more nicely than they deserve. The king himself told them that he conceded your right to conscript Anders. I say, y’tell Alistair what happened in Amaranthine, have him force them to hand over the phylactr’y and maybe a piece o’that woman’s hide while they’re at it.”

“Yes, I suppose that is an option as well.” Sophia was reluctant to ask Alistair for any favors, or even to see him. Her thoughts regarding her husband had been so angry as of late. She was not sure she could keep her calm when confronted with him directly.

A wicked thought had started to spiral in her mind. Rylock had seemed so comfortable with Alistair that day at the Keep after the battle with the Darkspawn. And had apparently been confident enough of her position to threaten her. What would give the Lieutenant that much hubris? Sophia’s mind had only been able to settle on one reason, other than outright madness.

The idea that her husband had found his way into another woman’s arms gave her more emotions and feelings than she could name. He had insisted that his inability to be physically intimate with her was the result of stress, of something perhaps done to him during the Dark Ritual. But if he indeed had taken Rylock into his bed, then the issue he had was with her, and not the physical act. It sickened her. A tight white hot fist of rage twisted in her chest any time her thoughts began to travel down that path. And yet…

The months of his rejection had chipped away not just at her self confidence, but at their relationship as well. Such a sensitive issue between them had become a wall, built from the bricks of their previous intimacy being stripped away. Her anger at the thought of Alistair taking a lover came from pride more than jealousy. It even, she thought as her eyes flicked towards where Nathaniel leaned up against the wall near the fireplace, assuaged some of the guilt she felt. Ashamed of herself, she turned her gaze back to Anders and tamped down on her emotions.

“I wish that I could say I’d been able to come to a decision on this while we traveled. But I confess my mind was more pre-occupied with watching for any signs of the Templars that it has not had a chance to fully decide what we must do.” She sighed, feeling almost defeated. “It would appear I had us tear off down here with little real thought or planning. And I am sorry. It was reckless to do so, especially for you Anders.”

“Commander, no. I appreciate everything that you are trying to do for me. Even if we are unsuccessful. I will always know that there were people around me who were willing to try.” He smiled winningly at them.

Before anyone could respond, the woman returned from the market, her basket full and scenting the room with the pungent aroma of fresh herbs and vegetables. “Can I be cooking her ladyship dinner?”

It was decided that the next day they would present themselves at court and Sophia would seek an audience with Alistair. The idea garnered no small amount of trepidation in her. It was entirely possible that news of her confrontation with Lieutenant Rylock had made its way to Denerim and her reception would not be warm. Even if the woman had not been warming her husband’s bed. His close association with the Templars was enough to worry her that he would not take this news well.

She sat up next to the fire, unable to sleep, and considered that it was a rare night indeed these days where she slept soundly. The exhaustion had begun to slowly take its toll and she knew that eventually she would have to do something. Simple she thought. Simply solve this strange mystery of intelligent Darkspawn, resolve all of the issues surrounding the nobles in Amaranthine, and find a way to fix her marriage. Realistically, she decided that before they left the city she would visit the apothecary and procure some herbs that she could mix into a powder or a tea that she could take before sleeping. Nothing too strong, there was too much of a chance that she would need to awaken suddenly during the night and could not afford to be foggy. But she had a few options.

Any time she began to wonder whether or not the possibility of confrontation was indeed worth it she looked over at where Anders had spread his bedroll out on the far side of the room. The man had a right to decide his own fate. All the fighting against the Blight was nothing if good men and women were still begin kept in chains. No, she would face the court, face Alistair.

“Something is bothering you,” a soft voice broke her out of her musings. She turned to see Nathaniel’s face looking down at her, his dark hair and armor fading into the room so that it seemed as though his pale face was hovering in the firelight.

“A great many things,” she confessed.

“Anything you want to talk about?”

It struck her, suddenly, that even more than she missed the touch of another person, she missed having someone to talk to, confide in. Strangely, she missed Morrigan. The thought saddened and horrified her. It did not seem so strange then, to sit here and talk with Nathaniel as an equal. Whatever his father had done, he was a noble, like her. Raised to rule.

“I just… I want a break.” Even as the words left her lips she realized how whiny she sounded and sighed, shaking her head.

“Of course you do,” he agreed quietly.

“We ended the Blight. We all survived. The things we did…” her voice broke, unwilling to go into details of the Dark Ritual. “I was supposed to get a happily ever after. Oh listen to me, I sound like a child… not the Commander of the Grey Wardens.” Unbidden, tears pooled in her eyes and as she blinked, one fell down her cheek and she sniffed.

Nathaniel reached a hand up to her cheek, wiping away the tear and gently holding her face, turning her gaze to meet his. “It is not childish to want peace, after all you have done. All you sacrificed. You are queen of Ferelden, I would say that deserves a happily ever after.”

“I don’t want to be,” the words escaped before she could stop them.

Nathaniel reached a hand up to her cheek, wiping away the tear and gently holding her face. He turned her gaze to meet his and smiled softly. “You don’t have to hide from me, Sophia. I think you have seen me at my worst. In chains… seething for revenge… desperate to kill you.”

“At least you don’t want to kill me any more?” She teased, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, I don’t.” Nathaniel dropped his hand as though her face suddenly burned his palm. “No, I don’t want to kill you…” he repeated, almost too quiet for her to hear. “You didn’t have to take this on,” he said louder, changing the subject back to why they were in Denerim.

“You should know me well enough by now, I never do anything I don’t have to. But this thing… with Anders and the Templars. It has to stop. They’re fanatics, and they are ruining lives. Someone has to check their power. And if not me, then who?”

“Do you know what we will do?”

She nodded, “Tomorrow we go to the castle. We should have gone today but I just…”

“You needed time, I understand.”

“Mmm,” she said in agreement. “If we are not successful in our petition to the king, then we will take his phylactery by force. I hope it will not come to that.”

If he thought it was strange that he rarely, if ever, referred to Alistair as her husband, he did not say. Instead he simply nodded and stood. “Good night, my lady.”

Morning came far too quickly. She was not altogether sure that she had managed any actual sleep, but it did not matter. She had a duty, and the sooner she could finish it, the sooner she could once again flee to the North where she could be Commander of the Grey Wardens, instead of the Queen of Ferelden. So quickly they had fled from Vigil’s Keep that she did not have time to pack any gowns, or her crown. She would have to enter the castle as she was. After the others had broken their fast, she signaled that it was time to leave.

She waited until they were in the middle of the crowded market to pull down the hood of her cloak. Hoping to conceal the location of the house. Moving purposefully towards the Royal Quarter, she began to hear the murmurs that the queen had been spotted. By the time they reached the gates of the castle a throng of people surrounded them. Whispers dancing through the streets, speculation growing as to why she had returned so suddenly. She ignored all of them, and deigned only a cursory nod to the guards as she climbed the steps.

“I wish to speak with the king,” she announced in the direction of the steward.

The man sputtered a moment, but then recognition dawned and he hurried to grant her an audience. It seemed an untennable stretch of time they waited. Sounds of the crowd that had gathered still heard through the thick doors. Finally, a voice echoed through the hall.

“Sophia? What is this? Is everything alright?” Alistair looked a little rumpled, as though he had been called from bed. And indeed he may have, it was not long after dawn, and he was not inclined to wake early. Alistair waved the steward away and motioned for Sophia and the others to follow him to a side room where a large table dominated the space. “Have you eaten?”

She nodded, although she could see Oghren and Anders eyeing the platters of food that were being brought from the kitchen. “May we join you?” she cursed inwardly at how formal her voice sounded. But, perhaps it was better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so a smidge of a heads up of what is coming.
> 
> I did not originally write this fic intending to be an Alistair bashing one. I fucking adored him in DAO. But as this story takes shape, and we see more of the fall out from the Dark Ritual, it just... is kind of happening. It will not be a main focus of this fic. Let's be real, the main focus is super hot sex between Nathaniel and Sophia. But... there is a less than wonderful portrayal of Alistair coming up in the next chapter or two.
> 
> But, things also start to heat up between our lovers, so hopefully you'll all forgive me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to heat up.

She was here, not as his wife, but as a concerned citizen and, if necessary, the Commander of the Wardens. Anders and Oghren sat down and immediately fell to the food. She couldn’t blame them. Travel rations, and the meger fair they had at the Keep was nothing compared to the feast that was every meal in the castle at Denerim. If she were not quite so anxious about the upcoming conversation, she would have joined them in a heartbeat. Nervously, she took her place beside Alistair, while Nathaniel settled in across from her. She could feel his warm brown eyes on her and she tried not to notice how he too simply picked at his food.

“Will you tell me what has brought you from Vigil’s Keep all the way to Denerim, wife?” Alistair pushed back his plate with a satisfied sigh and smiled at her.

The smile seemed forced, as did his endearment. But she pretended not to notice. “It is concerning Lieutenant Rylock.”

Alistair looked surprised, “Is Elessa alright?”

Out of the corner of her eye Sophia saw Nathaniel stiffen. Anders and Oghren also set down their knives, pushing their plates aside as they tuned into the conversation.

“She was still alive when I last saw her, but I am not certain if she remained so.”

The king’s fair face darkened and he narrowed his eyes. “Sophia, what has happened?” his voice held a note of steel to it.

“It is my fault, your highness,” Anders broke in, unable to help himself.

“It is Lieutenant Rylock’s fault.” Sophia’s voice cut across the mage’s with a harshness and finality that brokered no further arguments on the subject. “We were in Amaranthine, seeing what we could do to help the merchants and trade there. She and her Templars demanded that I hand Anders over to them for execution. When I refused to acquiesce, they attacked. Her Templars were killed, and she was wounded rather severely.”

“I see,” said Alistair, his hand tightening around the mug he held. Sophia allowed herself a moment to hope that perhaps his anger was at the behavior of the Chantry. “And you have come to me…”

“I have learned that the Chantry uses blood magic in order to keep the Mages Circle caged. It is not perhaps my place to dictate how they operate-”

“It is not.”

“But it is at least my purview to ensure the safety of my Wardens. The Chantry has proven that it cannot be trusted with this, even after a decree by the king. I ask your leave to retrieve Ander’s phylactery from the Chantry, and any additional Mages that I might recruit in the future.”

“What will you do with them?”

“That would be my business, as Commander of the Grey Wardens. If I recall, you declared your desire to have nothing further to do with the leadership of the Wardens.”

“Dammit Sophia!” Alistair stood, his face flushed. “I can’t tell the Chantry how to do their business. And from what you tell me you’ve not only killed two of their Templars, but seriously injured and possibly killed the Chantry’s royal emissary.”

She stood, her face equally flushed. “I was protecting my friend!” she spat. “The Templars he killed in the Keep were abominations, or something or the kind. They were turned, Alistair. He was protecting himself, and us. I will not see him hanged for that!”

“I cannot simply barge into the Chantry and demand that they hand over the phylactery. I need to dispatch scouts to find Elissa at once. You had better hope that she yet lives, Commander.” He strode to leave the dining hall before pausing at the door. “Until this matter is resolved you and your Wardens will of course remain guests in the castle.”

“Did anyone else feel like the word ‘guest’ actually meant ‘prisoner’ just then?” Anders said quietly after they were alone. Oghren and Nathaniel grunted their agreement.

Sophia fell back into her chair, her entire body wrung out and worn. “I am so sorry Anders.”

The mage looked at her and smiled wryly. “You tried, Commander. It’s a damn sight more than anyone else has done. And if they hang me now, or hang me later… I guess it makes little difference. Long as the Chantry has my blood wrapped up in their little spell, that was always going to be the way it was going to end.”

“We could have stayed in Vigil’s Keep. I should not have abandoned our work there.”

This time it was Oghren who spoke up. “Y’know as well as I, we couldna have kept going the way things were there. Templars hiding behind corners, spring’in traps to catch the mage. Nope, best ye got the pissing match done with so we could get back to it.”

“Do you really think he’s going to side with us, after all that?”

“I think somewhere in that swollen blond head of his is still the… what was it Morrigan called him? Braindead calf? That was our friend. He’ll come around.”

Sophia snorted and then leaned back in her chair. “Maybe, maybe.” She sighed again. “I guess, we’re stuck here for now. Oghren, you’ve seen it, but would you two like a tour of the castle?”

Lacking anything better to do, and not yet willing to challenge the guards at the entrance, they spent the day meandering through the castle. The gardens were pleasant, and the training area gave them space to let off some steam. It would have been a pleasant enough day had there not been the looming cloud of imprisonment over their heads. If Rylock hadn’t been found, and she wasn’t on her way to Denerim already, it could be weeks before they were given leave to go. A situation Sophia was not willing to accept.

However she was willing to give it a day, or two, before she began to make her own plans. Both Anders and Nathaniel had some ability to escape places that seemed locked tight, and it was only her firm belief in their ability to free them, should they desire it, that kept her calm.

As the sun began to set over the training yard, she leaned against the fence, watching Oghren and Anders spar. She had exhausted herself, knowing that only physical exhaustion would keep her from climbing the walls as the cage around them tightened. A maidservant approached and bowed deeply. “Your highness,” her girlish voice tittered as she kept an eye on the half naked forms of the men, blushing brightly as she watched Nathaniel’s lean form move through a series of stretches.

“Yes.” Sophia snapped, ignoring the pang of possessiveness and brushing it off as irritation at their situation instead.

Chagrined, the girl bowed again, this time her gaze fixed on Sophia’s shoes. “Dinner is at eighth bell. And the king has asked your presence, as well as that of your companions.”

Sophia waved her off without a word, judging the time to be approximately half way between fifth and sixth bells. She stepped into the yard and cleared her throat, catching the men’s attention. “We’ve been invited to dinner, and I’ve no doubt that we will be put on display.”

“That means formal attire, doesn’t it.” Ander’s question was more of a statement, and she nodded.

“I will have something appropriate send to your rooms, and I will have servants sent to help you bathe.”

As Sophia dressed she found herself wishing that she had the green gown she had worn in Vigil’s Keep. Her mind wandering back to the way Nathaniel had looked when he told her she was beautiful. But her quarters in the castle had more than enough selection. She sat naked on the furs of the bed, looking at the gowns, her eyes flicking to the door that led to Alistair’s room. She had not seen him since breakfast. A part of her wanted to knock on his door. Apologize and smooth things over. Surely this was no way to keep her marriage.

But just the thought had her clenching her fists, her heart beating faster. It was not for her to apologize. No, if he was sorry, then he could damn well beg her for her forgiveness. She stood and selected a gown. Let him see just how cowed she was.

In the small satchel of things she had brought with her when they fled the Keep she found Zevran’s hoop. A thrill of pleasure at her stubbornness ran through her as she threaded it through the piercing in her nose. Her long black hair hung in ringlets down to her waist and she settled the crown onto the top of her head. When she had retired to dress she mentioned to the maid that her crown had been left in Amaranthine. Apparently someone had taken a trip to the vaults while she bathed, for when she had returned there was a crown on her dressing table. Despite its delicate appearance, it felt heavy, and she considered not wearing it. But she was only willing to push Alistair so far. Sophia pressed a hand to her stomach, trying to find herself in her breaths. It was a trick her mother had taught her. A few deep breaths under a shaking hand and she was once again in control. She smoothed the dress. It was a deep blue and stood out sharply against her pale skin and dark hair. The soft fabric wrapped tightly around the bodice, sheer lace sweeping up to cover one arm, leaving most of her chest and her other arm bare. It was an Orlesian style, another gift from Zevran. He had seemed to make it his personal mission in life to irritate Alistair by dressing Sophia.

Alistair was waiting for her when she left her rooms. He said little beyond the usual pleasantries, but he held out his arm for her and led her not to the dining hall, but to a small side room. 

“Lieutenant Rylock arrived with a company of Templars this afternoon,” Alistair said coldly. “You are fortunate that she has recovered. And tomorrow we will get to the bottom of the issue. For tonight, you will behave.”

Sophia closed her eyes, willing back the tears that threatened to fall. She instead focused on the closed door where moments before Alistair had been standing. She had not wanted to do this tonight, before dinner. She wanted to simply enjoy the meal and leave the matter until tomorrow. There was no way that the Templars would make a move against Anders in the castle. And even if they had dared, she knew that both Oghren and Nathaniel had arranged to split a watch between them so that the mage was never alone, even in the middle of the night. 

Even now, mere moments after, she could not even recall what they had argued about. Although she remembered quite plainly the part where he had called her an Orlesian whore, and implied that if she liked Zevran dressing her so much… perhaps she was also wishing for the fair-haired elf to undress her. Of all the barbs he could throw at her, any time he reached for her sexuality stung the most. A reminder that she was unwanted by him. Memories of the way he had clutched Morrigan’s tall, lean body against his, his mouth suckling her nipple eagerly as he bred the witch again and again rose easily to the surface. Angry, and looking for a distraction, she clenched her fist and moved to strike the wall.

Instead of driving into the cold stone, her hand met warm skin. Startled, she turned to see Nathaniel standing beside her. He had changed out of his leathers and was instead dressed as a noble. He wore an ivory shirt, loose in the arms and around the neck, laced with a silver cord at the throat. Over it was a black tunic that was bordered in silver filigree and belted with a green and silver rope. His hair, normally tied back and out of the way was worn down. It fell to just above his shoulders in soft waves.

“Just how much of that did you hear?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Enough.” His voice shook as well, his face taut with anger. “We should not have come back here.” Instead of letting go, his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand. “It was slowly becoming clear to me why you left all of this to fight the Darkspawn in the North… but I did not think…”

“He was not always like this. Things… happened. He didn’t-”

“There is no excuse,” Nathaniel growled. “You deserve better,” he continued in a softer tone. His eyes flicked down to where their hands were still joined and he lifted his other one to slowly uncurl her fingers. “He does not even deserve your anger. Come, my queen, let us enjoy the dinner.” With the smoothness of a well-practiced nobleman he tucked her hand into his arm and pulled her close. His free hand came to rest on top of hers as he escorted her to the dining hall.

They arrived just as the bell rang, signaling and end to the pre-dinner conversation. Sophia had spoken with the cooks earlier to ensure that she and the other Wardens would be seated together.. Nathaniel let her to those seats now, where Anders and Oghren, both dressed impeccably, stood waiting. Alistair was absorbed in conversation with a group of Orlesian nobles at the head of the table and did not seem to notice that she had arrived. Perhaps 

“My lady,” said Anders with a deep bow, and pulled out the chair for her.

“Thank you, Anders.”

“Of course.” He squeezed her shoulder reassuringly, seeming to sense her discomfort, and perhaps with some measure of guilt as it was his situation that had brought them here. He and Oghren took their places to the right of her, next to the diplomats who flanked the king. And Nathaniel slid into the seat beside her.

Sophia smiled as she allowed herself to imagine that somehow Nathaniel had managed to maneuver the chair subtly closer to hers. She lifted the goblet, already filled with sweet mead, to her lips to cover her face. The pleasant burn of the alcohol calmed her nerves and she was able to focus on Anders as he struck up a conversation. She knew the mage was making an effort. Although no one but Nathaniel had witnessed the altercation between her and Alistair, Anders had seen their cool encounter back at Vigil’s Keep. It was not difficult to piece together the fact that all was not well between in the king and queen.

Anders kept up a commentary of his assessment of the garments worn by the nobility who were in attendance. Sophia thought, with a chuckle, how well he and Zevran would have gotten along. Idly, she wondered if there might be some way to get in touch with the elf and introduce them. Suddenly a soft voice was in her ear.

“The mage can discuss the dresses of every woman here. None of them will come close to your beauty.” Nathaniel’s voice was low, his breath hot on her neck and his lips hidden in her hair so that no one would see that he spoke as he leaned across her on the pretense of reaching for the jug to refill their glasses.

The blush that dusted across her cheeks rose from her core and she struggled to keep her composure.

“Are you alright, Commander?” Anders asked causing Oghren to look over from where he was flirting with one of the Orlesians.

“Yes, yes thank you,” Sophia said, faking a light cough and pressing a hand to her throat. “Just a little more seasoned than I have been used to.”

“Mmmm,” he hummed in agreement. “It really is delicious.”

She glanced over at Nathaniel who was eating his dinner as though nothing had happened. But when he caught her gaze on him he smirked ever so slightly, his warm brown eyes twinkling with mischief. However he made no further effort to engage her in conversation and Anders appeared to have exhausted his commentary so she returned to her meal in silence. 

Again, Nathaniel shifted in his seat, leaning forward to spear another large slice of meat. When he sat back down she felt the warm pressure of his leg against her thigh. Emboldened, she turned slightly and pressed herself against him. Her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat loudly in her ears as she saw his eyes flick up towards her. For one horrifying moment she thought that she had imagined everything and he would wrench his chair and his body away from hers. Instead, a heated look stole across his features and she found herself blushing again.

The platters and dishes of the main course were cleared and trays of a light cake and berries were brought in. When the servers began to circle the table Nathaniel pulled his leg away from hers. While she appreciated the discretion her body felt cold and as the servers left the hall she began to wonder again if she had perhaps imagined it all in her desperation to feel wanted as he made no effort to touch her again. She felt the prickling sting of tears forming and she ducked her head, letting her hair fall to cover her face as she picked at her food.

A hand settled on her knee, squeezing gently. Nathaniel was talking quietly with an elderly Arl on his left, but his fingers were insistently working the fabric of her skirt, slowly sliding it up her leg. Sophia made a small show of pushing her hair back and glanced around the table - no one, including Alistair, was looking their direction although she felt completely on display as she felt the hem brush her calf. Then, his fingers were on her. She swallowed hard as he began to trace idle patterns on her bare skin.

He finished the conversation with the Arl and was seemingly focused on his food. But his fingers continued to stroke her thigh, moving ever so slowly upward and slipping underneath the bunched fabric of her skirt. Heart racing, Sophia sucked in a sharp breath, drawing a few curious stares. She expected Nathaniel to withdraw his touch, but he merely stilled his movements until the small hint of attention they had drawn faded. Slowly, his hand slid around her trembling thigh until his fingers covered her leg. There his hand stayed, gently massaging the firm skin, while the dinner wound down.


	7. Chapter 7

It was easily the longest dinner that Sophia had ever endured and yet, as the servers appeared again to clear the remains of dessert. Nathaniel’s fingers spread, his hand dipping dangerously close to the heat between her thighs, and then he withdrew, turning again to the Arl beside him and making polite goodbye noises. She hissed, her fist tightened around the stem of the goblet and she tried to catch her breath as she fixed her skirt. 

The moment Alistair stood Sophia fled the table with as much decorum as she could muster. She closed the door to her room with a gasp, falling against the rough wood. Her breath came in gasps, what if they had been caught? What was Nathaniel thinking… what was SHE thinking? 

Rendon Howe, Nathaniel’s father, had killed her parents, had tried to kill her. Nathaniel had only returned to Ferelden so that he could assassinate her. Maybe his change of heart was simply a way to get close to her. A coil of suspicion and anger wrapped around her heart, threatening to strangle her as she considered the fallout if she were found in a compromising position with a man who wasn’t her husband. Who wasn’t the king. Was it treason? She struggled to breathe.

A knock at the door startled her and the rage turned icy with fear. They had been seen…

“Sophia, please let me in.”

The sound of Nathaniel’s voice sent a shiver of desire through her. The place on her thighs where his hand had been playing with her burned and her knees shook as she stepped back from the door enough to unlatch it. He slipped past her into the room.

She opened her mouth, ready to unleash her fury. Instead she found herself pressed against the door, his lips crushing hers. His body pinned her to the rough wood and she felt his groan through the fabric between them. Distantly she was aware of his hand fumbling with the lock. When it slid into place he raised his hand to tangle in her hair, tugging gently as he nibbled her bottom lip.

“Nathaniel,” she moaned, her voice coming out in a harsh whisper.

“I know,” he purred in her ear. His thigh pushing between her leg and she shamelessly ground herself down on it. “Yes… that’s it, princess.”

“I’m the queen,” she giggled and then suddenly pushed him back. “I’m the queen,” she repeated, her eyes filling with tears. “You can’t… we can’t…” she broke off in a strangled sob.

“And if your husband wasn’t the king his guts would already be decorating my dagger.”

She burst out laughing through her tears and clapped her hands over her mouth, looking toward the door that led to Alistair’s room guiltily.

“That’s his room?” Nathaniel asked, his gaze turning predatory when she nodded. His gaze roamed her body greedily as he stalked towards her. Reaching out he took her hand in his and gently tugged her towards him. “Come here princess, I’m not going to hurt you.” 

Sophia let herself be pulled forward. Her misgivings were rapidly fading. Whatever his reasons for being here with her… it was not for revenge.

He trailed a finger along the side of her face and stepping towards her. He kept walking until she backed into the door to Alistair’s bedroom. With his hand on her chin he gently tipped her face up and lowered his mouth to capture hers. “Ahhh, little one, you have been hurt by so much in your life. I could never do anything to cause you pain. I would sooner fall on my own sword.”

She lost track of how many times she had been brought to tears that evening. He continued to kiss her, tenderly wiping the tears away with the sleeve of his tunic. Her heart shattered in a million pieces and she gave into the feeling, returning his kiss eagerly. She lifted a shaky hand to the silver crown still nestled in her dark waves, moving to take it off and cast it aside.

“Leave it,” he said wickedly. He brushed the hair off her bare shoulder and started to kiss the pale skin.

Her head fell back against the door with a thud. “He’ll hear,” she hissed as Nathaniel licked and nibbled at her throat. She tried to push him away from the door.

“Let him, he had his chance.” His fingers began to toy with the soft swell of her breast, tracing the lace edge of the bodice. The tips of his fingers began to delve under the fabric. “No undergarments?” he smirked. 

“Didn’t suit the dress,” she answered breathlessly.

“I love the dress,” he said as he stroked the side of her neck. He chuckled, his voice low and warm with desire. “And I find I am rather loving the way you respond to me.”

Sophia trembled, her knees shaking as she slumped back against the door. “Nathaniel… please…”

He tsked softly, returning his attention to the neckline of the gown. “I know, princess. I know.” Stepping forward he pressed himself into her, she felt his bulge against her stomach. His lips brushed her ear. “I’m going to take care of you.” 

Deft fingers began to slowly tease lower and lower under the fabric, until they finally grazed her hard nipple. She cried out softly before his mouth covered hers and she remembered that they were pressed against the door leading to Alistair’s room. Nathaniel continued to feather his fingers over the sensitive bud as he worked the fabric down, until her breast was exposed. He palmed her, the rough calluses of his hand dragging across tender skin. How long had it been since someone had touched her in this way? Sophia closed her eyes as she felt his touch in her core.

He tugged her nipple, she could feel the rumble of a laugh in his chest as she whimpered. His touch grew more earnest as he pulled the other side of her bodice down, revealing her other breast. Dropping to his knees he flicked his tongue across the abused nipple before latching onto the other. Sophia bit her lip, trying desperately to keep quiet as he played with her. She shifted, pushing her thighs together and rolling her hips in an attempt to get friction where she needed it the most. He rumbled softly and slid his hand across her stomach, rubbing her through the fabric.

She ran her fingers through his hair, watching as he went from one breast to the other, his tongue expertly teasing her until her breath came in short pants. He bent down, lifting the hem of her dress. His fingers grazed across the quivering flesh of her thighs as he hitched the gown up around her waist. As his fingers began to lightly trace over her outer lips she nearly wept with relief. She had been wet with desire since he had started playing with her at dinner, and now, finally, he was going to bring her some relief. His other hand returned to her breast, gently twisting and pinching her nipple, but her focus was on the fingers that were rubbing against the heated skin of her sex. With each pass his middle finger probed a little deeper until it delved between the swollen lips. She keened happily, rocking her hips against him.

When his fingers found her aching clit she whimpered loudly. Relentlessly he began to circle it, pushing firmly into her so she could ride the wave of pleasure and pain. Sophia felt the pleasure building in her core, her body trembling under his touch. At the verge of climax he stopped and she cried out, gasping. For a moment she imagined Alistair in the room next door and wondered with a thrill if he could hear her.

Nathaniel stood, licking each of her nipples before he fully straightened and nuzzled her neck. As he nibbled and sucked her neck he slid two fingers inside of her. She gasped and her knees gave out. He snaked his arm around her waist holding her against him as he slid his fingers in and out of her wet pussy. With each thrust he rubbed against her clit and she squirmed. Her arms wrapped around his neck and he kissed her roughly while his fingers sought out the spot inside her passage that had her clenching desperately around him.

“That’s it, princess. Come for me.”

His words sent her over the edge and she cried out. Her body shook and her orgasm crashed through her, leaving her completely wrung out and sagging in his arms. He whispered softly to her, encouraging her to ride the pleasure as his fingers teased every bit of the climax from her. Her eyes filled with tears as the emotions caught up with her on the tail of the ecstasy. 

Immediately his arms were around her. He pushed the gown off her hips and pulled her close; he plucked off the crown, tossed it aside, and pressed his face into her hair. He didn’t shush her, just held her as she sobbed, stroking her hair and wrapping himself around her. Finally, as Sophia’s sobs began to subside, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the bed.

Gently, he placed her on the furs and spooned her, holding her firmly in his arms. After a few moments she turned to face him, her face flushed. He was still fully clothed, lying on her bed and cradling her naked form.

“Nathaniel I… I’m so sorry. I can…”

He put a finger against her lips and shook his head. Leaning forward he kissed her forehead. “Listen to me, Sophia. Tonight… tonight happened because I wanted to pleasure you. You owe me nothing. Nothing, do you understand?” She nodded her head but refused to meet his eyes and he continued. “I have grown to care for you. I am not naive, nor unaware of the myriad of complications and problems.” He put his finger under her chin and tipped her face up to his, pressing his lips to hers and kissing her deeply. “I do not care that if I were to take you, to claim you in the ways I want to… that it would be treason. But you may, and there is no one, least of all me, who could blame you. Ahhh, princess…” he sighed. “If tonight is nothing but a gift from me to you, I will understand. It will not change anything and I will never again approach the line of indiscretion. But, if you would have me. If you would let me make you mine… you need only tell me. Not tonight,” he hurried to add. “Think about it. It is not a small thing.” He gently brushed away the tears that had fallen onto her cheeks and kissed her again, slowly and tenderly. Then he stood, pulling the blankets over her small form.

“Good night, little one.” And then he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that it's short, but it really needed/wanted to be its own chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Sophia stared at the door after he had closed it softly. Her last thought before drifting off was that there was no way she would be able to sleep.

She woke slowly the next morning, stretching contentedly and noticing immediately the lingering dampness between her legs. Sighing, she allowed herself a moment to remember the previous night with pleasure before the guilt rushed in. As her cheeks flushed and she felt a pang of remorse it was not, she marked with interest, at her actions. Or what Nathaniel had done to her. Even now her heart skipped quickly as she recalled the feeling of his hands and tongue exploring her body. No, her regret was only that she had allowed herself pleasure while Anders’ life was in danger. But there was little she could do for him last night, and now she felt more than fortified to face down the king and the Chantry.

Slipping out of the bed she gathered her discarded dress and crown, putting them away before anyone could see how little she valued the crown especially. The dress, on the other hand, would always be a favorite. Holding the fabric to her chest she smiled.

“But, if you would have me. If you would let me make you mine… you need only tell me.” Nathaniel’s words from last night came back to her and her eyes flooded with tears. Alistair had said much the same thing to her, and yet here she was. Could she truly trust another? Even one who made her skin burn and her heart sing? Alistair had come to her in grief, Nathaniel in rage… would she survive the fire? Cursing, she snatched through the clothes in her closet. She had come to the palace at Denerim to solve something far more important than who would bed her. For a moment her hand hovered over the most conservative gown she owned. She had played the harlot last night to great success, was it time now for penance?

Ripping the gown from the hanger she threw it across the room with a growl. She was finished, again, playing the submissive woman behind the throne. In light of Alistair’s insecurity after the coronation she, the “hero of Ferelden”, had done what she could to step into the shadows. Allowing him to rule and shine. She’d lost herself, and she was not inclined to do so again. How many times would she find herself here? Making the choice not to fold back within herself?

She checked herself for bruises, Nathaniel in his wisdom did not leave any, before ringing for a maid to help her dress. As she strode through the halls of the palace she wished she had her bow. After much back and forth with herself this morning she’d decided she would face them alone, as the Commander of the Grey Wardens. Despite her hatred of the ceremonial armor, she wanted every ounce of weight she could muster, even if that weight was literally on her body. Steeling herself before the great doors of his private study, she nodded to the guards. She’d stormed into the Deep Roads, fought a fucking archdemon, and right now all of that paled in comparison to facing down her husband and the Chantry.

Bursting out of the study several hours later she barely noticed her three companions, waiting on edge in the hall just outside. Not entirely certain where she was going she let her feet carry her to the furthest reaches of the palace, where a small conservatory was found. Unknown to all except those who knew the castle very well. She’d had it restored and set aside for her personal use. As she unlocked the door she heard footsteps behind her. She left the door open so Nathaniel could follow.

“We won’t let them take Anders,” he exploded after he’d shut the door behind him. “I can smuggle him out of the castle, we’ll flee the city. They cannot move an army as fast as we can fall back to the Keep. And let them face the Wardens there, they will not have him.” His voice trailed off, losing fury as he finally registered the sad smile on her face. “Sophia?” he asked, clearly confused.

She shifted the leather tunic she wore, the insignia of the Wardens emblazoned on the front in silver relief. “They’re not going to kill Anders. They declared him officially an apostate. If he ever leaves the service of the Wardens, his life is forfeit. And if he succumbs to demons while within the Wardens, if any of the mages do… mine is.”

Nathaniel’s face clouded, his fists clenched at his side. “The king agreed to this?”

“It was his idea,” she said, her voice flat. 

“I’m so sorry Sophia,” he reached for her, and she let him pull her into his arms. His chin rested on the top of her hair and he hugged her tightly.

“And tonight there will be a ball, celebrating that the Grey Wardens and Chantry are partners in the Circle.” Her eyes filled with tears. Wrenching herself away she began to pace angrily. “It was the only way I could get those Templar bastards to agree to hand over the phylactery. By essentially agreeing to form my own circle. Although I was, at least, permitted the respect of not having Templars assigned to it.” Her voice rose, more and more furious as she spoke. “It’s in name only. And they all fucking know that. It makes us appear weak, under their thumb.” She threw her hands up. “And I know it’s all just words, I get exactly what I want… so why am I so angry?”

Nathaniel caught her wrist and again pulled her to him. This time her back was to his chest, and her arms were crossed in front of her. He held her close and spoke softly. “Because any man lucky enough to call himself your husband, your partner… should support you. Not throw you to the wolves and seek to repress you.” Feeling her relax slightly he nuzzled her cheek affectionately.

She leaned into him, sighing deeply and closing her eyes. “I just wish we could leave now, and avoid the ball. Apparently it was important to them that we announce it formally, and publicly. The Chantry wanted to wait until next week. Thankfully I managed to convince Alistair that we were needed back at the Keep and could not delay any further.”

He tightened his grip at the sound of her husband’s name on her lips. Gently, he turned her face so that he could claim her in a kiss. Not demanding like the previous evening, but soft. He took his time, parting her lips with his tongue and holding her up as her legs threatened to give way. When he broke the kiss he released her, spinning her body so that she could face him. “He is a fool not to find you as beautiful in leathers with your bow in your hand. But then…” he kissed her again, softly. “He does not see your true beauty in a gown either. Merely a tool.”

Nathaniel paused at the door, smiling softly at he looked at her. “Even if you do not pick me. And Maker knows you have every reason not to. I hope you always remember that you are a glorious warrior.” After a pause he added, “I hope you will save me at least two dances tonight.” He slipped out of the conservatory, leaving her alone with her thoughts and the feeling of his body against hers.

Sophia let out the breath she’d been holding since he joined her in the garden and sat next to the small pond. Stripping off her boots and shin guards, she sank her feet into the cool water and laid back on the ground, looking up at the sun through the glass.

She’d gotten what she came to the meeting to get. And she’d carefully avoided any mention of what she would do with the phylacteries once the Grey Wardens took possession. Mentally she made a note to ask Anders what must be done in order to destroy them safely. The ball, and the partnership it was announcing was merely a formality. She’d said as much to Nathaniel, and he had very quickly deduced the real reason behind her anger.

Alistair was not a confident king. Not a confident man. At the beginning, she’d found it endearing. His puppy dog smile, and the way he rarely stood against her decisions. It made dealing with the Blight easier. Others challenged her, but he did not. Now the Blight was over, and it was Alistair who sat on the Ferelden throne. Now that she had done her part to get him there, and now he seemed anxious to shuffle her to the side. Arl Eamon had seemed sure that given time, and the right people around him, Alistair would grow into his place as king. She’d been foolish not to see that Alistair would view her as a threat. That her notoriety, once it served its purpose, would leave him forever feeling as though he was in her shadow. 

With the Taint they both carried thanks to the Joining, it was unlikely even that she would do her duty and produce the required heir. Perhaps, she thought with a snarl, Morrigan can return and give him that child. Her stomach twisted with the memory of them together and she felt the familiar prick of tears stinging her eyes. After a moment of grief, she took a shaking breath and pushed the thoughts aside. They served no purpose, and what was done, was done. She did not regret saving herself, or Alistair. If given the option to do it all again, she still would have executed Loghain. But perhaps, she realized with sadness, it would have been far better to encourage Alistair to marry Anora. The woman was pretty enough, but she’d had her doubts then about the woman’s motivations. Doubts she still held. 

Try as she might to ignore them. Memories and regrets swirled around her for the rest of the afternoon, even as she was dressing for the ball. It was, she realized with determination, the last time she would attend a gala at the palace in Denerim. After this night, she would leave the castle and retire to the Grey Wardens until the madness of the taint claimed her. If Alistair wished to see her again, he could come to her. But even as she thought it she knew it would never happen. She would never see him again after this evening.

It was, perhaps, this feeling of rebellion that guided her choices as she selected her gown for the festivities. She would, for her final appearance as queen, give them something to gossip about for months. Nervously, she checked in the mirror one final time. The ball had already begun, but she was not yet rudely late. However if she did not gather the courage to leave her room that would very soon change. Pressing her hand to her stomach and centering herself, she left for the Grand Hall.

Alistair and Elessa were waiting for her, no doubt alerted to her imminent arrival by a servant. She smiled winningly at them. Courtesying carefully, the picture of demure obeisance. Her pale pink gown shimmering softly - a delicate pattern of swirls in fine crystals spiraled up her left side, sleeveless and lightly form-fitting, covering modestly up to her neck. They nodded curtly in greeting and she joined them at the top of the stairs. Both Alistar and the Lieutenant made pretty speeches which she completely ignored. Something about a new era of co-operation and harmony. Her eyes scanned the crowd, smiling faintly at a worried looking Anders. When they called on her to speak she shook her head submissively, making noises that they’d both covered it so perfectly, she’d hate to step on toes. Seemingly satisfied, Alistair signaled for the orchestra to begin.

He stepped beside her and offered her his arm. “We will begin the dancing,” he informed her in a low, disinterested tone. She only nodded in return, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor below. With a smirk, she noted Lieutenant Rylock’s sharp gasp. For, as much as her gown was the picture of elegance from the front, it was markedly different from behind. Falling from the shoulders, a small cowl of fabric dipped down to settle scandalously a hair’s breadth from the cleft of her ass. She was bare, save for a thin silver chain which hung from her neck, and the small crystal that dangled from the end of it, resting in the small of her back.

When Alistair turned her, moving to place his hand modestly on her back, his gloved hand met only bare skin. He narrowed his eyes at her, unable to see from his position precisely the cut of her gown. In return she smiled winningly up at him. Her eyes flashing with delight.

“Come, come now, dear. They expect the happy couple to dance.” Her voice was low, for him alone. And her face masked the cold mocking of her tone.

Alistair fumbled a moment, but began to lead her through the steps. As they moved about the floor she heard whispers spreading, and she struggled to keep her smile measured. “Sophia,” he whispered venomously, not quite as skilled as she at keeping his face a mask. “What have you done?”

She laughed warmly, keeping her peace for several moments as they danced. Letting him fume as he refused to ask her again. Finally, as the song was coming to an end, she answered him. “I’ve decided I no longer care for the court’s opinion of me. And,” she continued before he could respond. “I have decided this is my final appearance as queen. You may tell everyone that I have retired from the throne to give my entire focus to the Grey Wardens. Which was already the truth anyways. And if I should survive whatever horrors are lurking in the Deep Roads by the Keep, in a few years you may divorce me privately, if you wish. Marry someone pretty, and young. Someone you are not intimidated by.”

The music stopped, and Sophia pulled away before he could stop her. The crowd parted at her approach, she could see raised eyebrows and furious whispers as she made her way past them. But she did not care. She was free. Oghren, Anders, and Nathaniel all approached her as she stood by the open door to a balcony, and she nodded to them before waving them with her into the night air. It was quiet and crisp on the balcony, unlike the perfumed chaos in the Great Hall. It was as though stepping through the light curtains had taken them to another world. With a pang, Sophia wished it was that simple.

She leaned back against the railing and finally let out the breath she was holding. It was Anders who finally broke the silence.

“Commander,” his voice was hesitant, timid. “I am sorry, for this. All of this. It is my fault.”

“It is no more your fault than it is your fault for existing. And neither is true. Whatever the original purpose of the Templars and the Circle was… politics and people have gone and fucked it up.”

“Sounds like Orzammar,” Oghren grunted.

“Still,” he insisted. “I should not have gotten the Wardens involved in my personal mess.”

Sophia cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Let me absolve your conscious right now, Anders. The posturing happening tonight? Nothing at all to do with you. You were merely caught in the middle. But it is done, and what’s more, we accomplished exactly what we came here to do. Let them preen. As soon as we can manage it, we are leaving, tonight. A few discrete servants have already gathered your things.” Her lips curled into a sneer. “For propriety’s sake, we have to stay at least a while. If we rush out of here, it will be noticed. And this could all have been for nothing.”

“We won’t let it,” Nathaniel finally spoke up. He’d been standing next to her, a concerned look on his face. “For now,” his tone was lighter, forced. “I do believe, Lady Sophia, that you owe me at least one dance.”

“Oh no,” Anders cut in, ignoring the glare from Nathaniel. “Beauty before age.” With a swift, courtly movement she did not expect, Anders clasped her arm and led her from the balcony towards the throng of dancers. As the tall blond put his arm around her she risked a glance back at the balcony. She could just make out the faint pale glow of Nathaniel’s face, surrounded by dark hair. Anders bent down, whispering softly for her ears alone. “I hope he brings you every ounce of happiness you deserve.”

She stiffened, eyes wide as the next song began. “We, I mean I… It’s not…”

Anders chuckled, leading her gracefully through the dance. “I have judged for myself what sort of man the king is. And what sort of woman you are. It is not hard to see the rest.

Her eyes threatened to spill over with tears and she felt Anders’ arms tighten.

“No, no crying. Or I shall have to tickle you. Else everyone will think I am that terrible a dancer.” His words had the desired effect and she managed a weak smile.

“It’s not, we haven’t… Nathaniel and I…”

He shushed her, smiling sympathetically. “You owe no one, least of all me, any sort of explanation. After everything you have been through, you deserve comfort and happiness where you can find it. I didn’t bring it up to shame you, Sophia. I brought it up to tell you I’m happy for you. And when we are on the road, there is no need to hide it from me, or Oghren.” He sighed, “I wish I could speak for the Keep as well, but…”

She nodded, her smile fuller now. “Too many loose tongues. And not everyone there wishes me well.”

Anders smiled again, a touch of sadness in his eyes. “I wish I could reassure you that was not the case. But we three at least will always have your back.”

“I wouldn’t believe you if you tried,” she laughed wryly.

The laughed and chatted until the song was over. As the final notes faded, Anders bent and kissed her on the cheek. “I would claim you for another dance, but I fear that is the quickest way to ensure I wake up with a dagger or two in my spleen.”

Her smile at Nathaniel’s approach quickly faded as he was abruptly cut off by a large man in a Templar robe.

“Your majesty,” he said brusquely and snatched her into a dance before she could protest. 

Around his massive shoulders she caught sight of Alistair watching, a smug look of satisfaction on his face. Each time the song ended, another of the king’s companions was waiting, and she was passed from man to man without so much as a word. Nathaniel and Anders hovered anxiously at the edge of the dance floor, watching over her with twin furious expressions. Finally, the band stopped for a small intermission, and she forcefully pushed her way through the crowd of chancellors and Templars that surrounded her, telling them she had to retire.

Making excuses about needing to ride out at dawn, she and her companions swept from the hall, heading towards the kitchens instead of their rooms. One of her servants had run ahead at a discrete signal, and in the small courtyard off the pantry there were horses waiting.

“We needed to be fast,” she explained. “Fortunately Master Dennet owed me a favor, these are some of his best mounts.” They were beautiful, chestnut geldings for Anders and Oghren, a large black stallion for Nathaniel, and a painted mare for her. Each had food and clothes already stuffed into the saddle bags, and it only took a moment for the three men to spring into the saddles. Cursing her dress, and the lack of time to change, she struggled to mount the mare.

“I got you,” Nathaniel shifted his stallion towards her and bent low, wrapping his hands around her waist and neatly picking her up and settling her across the saddle in front of him. “Anders, get her horse.” 

A stable boy waited by the gate and let them out without a word. Nathaniel kept one arm tightly around her, pinning her body against his. She could feel his heart beating rapidly through the silk tunic he wore and she let herself close her eyes as they raced away from the castle into the night.


End file.
